somehow, they just keep falling in love
by Swanandapirate
Summary: Collection of my tumblr prompts (same name on there as here). The latest fic: A Google Docs AU where Emma and Killian both get asked to beta-read something of David's and start anonymously bickering about every conceivable grammatical and lexical and any other feature of the English language in the Google Docs Comment section but what happens after David decides to intervene?
1. not yet

**A Neverland fic that could be a canon divergence but consider it as a missing scene from around 3x02**

He sat on a fallen tree, scratching his hook in the brown, mud-like ground and occasionally swatting the bugs away that came to terrorize them. Emma was seated not far from him on a large, mossy rag spread across, protecting her clothes from getting even filthier. Her eyes kept reverting to his figure, scrutinizing his nonchalant posture.

"Why are you here?" she wondered.

The volume of the question was too loud to merely be a question to herself and Emma doubted that it was. But it was also too quiet for Hook to understand.

"Come again?"

His hand traced the metal to get rid of any crumbs of dirt remaining. Hook teared his attention away from his curved attachment and transferred it to Emma. His characteristic eyebrow went up.

"Why are you here?" Emma asked again, her voice more firm and demanding this time.

"To help you get your son back." he said after a pause and slowly, trying to clarify something he had explained the instant they all set foot on his ship and began their desperate quest. Something that had echoed several times during their journey.

Emma tried to settle for that answer, had been attempting for some time, but it was Hook. Her mind kept mentioning his reputation. He wasn't supposed to be helpful and generous, he needed to be selfish and annoying and just eye roll material. Nothing more.

While Emma was deep in thought, her brain pondering over the seemingly hard puzzle, Killian spoke again.

"Swan, why do you think I'm here?"

His voice rose slightly and Emma casted a look towards their companions but they were all concentrated on themselves, not paying attention to Emma and Hook facing each other. She turned back to him.

"I don't know, Hook." sounded as her reply. "I have been trying to figure out your secret agenda for hours now. Why don't you simply tell me?"

It was a futile request, Emma was fully aware that Hook would not just unravel his secret schemes because she was so kind to ask. It would take more.

"You think I'm here for myself?" Hook suggested.

The shock tore down his carefully constructed facade and displayed the disbelief the pirate felt.

"I don't see any other reason that is probable, so tell me, does Pan have your favorite parrot in captivity or are you coming to retrieve the treasure you once buried here?"

That tinge of nastiness Emma spoke with was extraneous and her comments were lame, she knew that. At least her explanations sounded a bit logical. Hook's features were distorted in a grimace as he stood up, urging Emma to lean back.

"If you are done mocking me, let me know. I'm going for a walk." he stated shortly.

Hook never felt offended by her teasing. He always masterly retorted and gave Emma a taste of her own medicine with his ironic quips. It was their thing, the banter.

Emma didn't understand why he was so offended now. She looked back across the clearing, saw her parents facing one another in conversation, saw Regina pacing around practicing magic and had not seen Gold for some time. Stretching her legs, Emma rose. She lingered awhile, showing a great interest in the botany of this world, running her fingertips along the spine of the often pointy leaves. After she felt she had heard enough bird whistles, had turned her fair share of mosquitoes into red spots on her skin and had a sufficient amount of sweat trickle down her forehead, only then did she disappear into the forest.

Straight ahead she went, thinking it the best way not to get completely disoriented. That way, if she didn't find Hook, she could easily follow her line back to camp. Branches after branches were pushed out of Emma's face and she was starting to think Hook didn't even go this way.

To her relief, she saw the outline of his body in the dark. He had gotten rid of the coat, something Emma understood. It was boiling in Neverland. There was a welcome breeze here, however, one the sea brought. Emma's feet left the squishy soil of the jungle and stepped on the rocks of the cliff Hook was sitting on. As she reached him, she took a sharp breath of air. The rocks ended in a peak and Hook was sitting on it, feet dangling above the black nothing. Emma had to call upon her courage as she carefully seated herself next to him. Fear of heights usually did not trouble her, but she did consider herself sane.

After a moment of silence, Hook started speaking.

"You deem it so impossible that I show the slightest sign of compassion. Do you consider me a monster?"

His eyes sought out Emma's. He was trying to read her, she knew that. Recognized the feeling from the many times before Hook wanted to know what she was thinking or going through. Emma ruptured the connection by directing her eyes to the sky.

"I-" Emma hesitated.

She was not only searching something to say that would not hurt his feelings, but as well asking herself what exactly it was she was planning to say. Before she could decide, Hook took her silence the wrong way and retreated his legs, lifting them back up.

"Aha, I see." he said while moving. "I won't force you be in the company of such a vile creature any longer."

Emma sighed with his exaggeration and placed her hands behind her to push her body away from the abyss. Hurried steps narrowed the distance between them and when it completely had vanished, Emma grabbed his arm.

"Hook, wait."

His closed eyelids scrunched even more when she said that. Emma couldn't help it that that was his name. The wind had caused a blonde lock to fly away from the rest of her hair, blocking her eye and she set it back into place.

"Of course I don't think you are a terrible person." she continued.

"Then why do you keep questioning my motives? Why do you keep doubting me?"

His ringed hand came to emphasize his inquiry even more.

"Maybe I don't doubt you are here to help." Emma gingerly started."Maybe I just want to hear why exactly you care so much. He's Regina's son, Mary Margaret, David and Gold's grandson, he's my kid. Obviously, _they_ are coming to rescue Henry but _you_ don't owe us anything. Okay." Emma nuanced her statement. "You did sail off with the bean but Greg and Tamara were practically unstoppable. You barely know Henry. Why?"

Emma heard the birds chirp again, heard the rustle of the leaves and when she closed her eyes she heard cries, they did not sound like an exotic animal or any other creature that would roam Neverland, it sounded like humans. Ignoring her ears and the noise they detected, she shook off the feeling and returned to Hook's blue irises who were watching her intensely. He had not given her an answer yet.

"What if it was just the right thing to do?"

Emma raised her eyebrow, still unsatisfied with his answer. The little detector in her head was not content yet with the half truths he was professing.

"You really want to know?" he asked.

Undoubtedly, she wanted to know. Why would she have asked if she wasn't interested to the answer of why Hook was here? Emma eagerly nodded.

"Emma, I don't think you are ready."

His voice became softer, more raspy and it might have been that that caused Emma to reply as breathlessly as she did or it might have been the way he said Emma but breathless it was.

"For what?"

"You know for what." Hook replied, while brushing yet another strand of hair away from Emma's cheek.

It made Emma's heart stop, turned Emma stunned as Hook stepped away from the rock and faded into the green of the wood.

Yes, she knew. Maybe she had known all along.

A couple of days later, she heard it, the words tumbling from his lips in the faint light of those damned caves. Hook was right, she wasn't ready but maybe she would be.


	2. i'm here, on stand-by

**Not a captain swan fic but this was a request of a guest reviewer who really wanted to see some Season 1 Swan Believer comforting and I added a dash of Gremma feels because I can**

Emma's hand touched her slim neck, lightly applying pressure and softly massaging the muscles beneath her fingers.

It was late.

Her hand went to rub away the sleep in her eyes.

God, it was late.

A car drove by, its headlights illuminating the darkly tinted windows. The radio was softly humming behind her, the strings of the guitar nearly lulling Emma to sleep. But she couldn't. She was all alone now.

Work had a tendency to pile up at her desk and Graham was always present to remind her of it. When it became too much for her shoulders to bear, he would give her that smile and roll his chair out of the sheriff's office and over to her desk. Her partner was gone now, so Emma was forced to take everything into her own hands. It was difficult but it was achievable.

Emma simply missed him. Never again would she hear that peculiar accent of his or would he come around with bear claws. She had mourned, but sometimes, like right now, it just crept up on her. She craved a beer; or something stronger. It was prohibited to drink on duty and it would feel wrong to do it here. If Emma even dared to touch a drop of liquor, she was sure Graham would come and haunt her. So coffee would have to do the trick.

She took a sip, let the liquid warm her mouth and course down as she swallowed, the heat a welcome feeling expanding in her chest. Her closed eyelids flew open when Emma heard her ringtone go off. She grabbed her phone of the desk. Her look went to the screen to see who was calling her this late. The reply to that question overwhelmed her with fear. She answered the phone.

"Henry, is everything okay? Are you hurt? Do you need me to come and get you?" she said, her mind conjuring up the worst situations possible.

"Emma, I'm alright." Henry's young voice reassured her. "I just had a bad dream."

Emma felt the worry release the clench around her heart and let out a breath of relief.

"I see."

Emma tried to think of what to do or what to say. She was aware of the ongoing silence that had lodged in their conversation and simply settled for:

"Henry, wouldn't it be better if you went to your mom and talked to her?" she suggested.

Henry wouldn't like her proposition, she knew that, but what was she supposed to do? Emma didn't know how to be a parent. Missing Henry grow up made that she didn't know how to soothe her own child. Regina had experienced those years. If someone could calm him, it should be her.

"No." he said as loudly a whisper could get. "She hates it when I talk about fairy tales so she certainly won't like this either."

Emma sighed. Standing up out of her chair, she left her desk. Her socked feet walked towards the couch and sat in it. She molded her body and eventually she sat with her back against the armrest and her knees against her. Around them, her arm slid.

"Do you want to talk about it, kid?"

Henry wanted to speak to her. It was her number he dialed when he needed comforting. Emma had to take this chance to be his person. Outside of hanging out together, she possessed very little right or claim to Henry but at least they could have this. He definitely was hers. The only one she had besides Mary Margaret.

"I don't know." he said, stretching the last word.

An idea popped up in Emma's head.

"Do you want me to tell you a story first before we see if you're ready?" she asked.

"Yes!" Henry replied immediately with such enthusiasm.

The sound immediately chased away the gloomy feeling that had been hanging around Emma for the better part of the evening and made Emma smile. Even in the middle of the night, Henry's light kept shining.

"Alright. Some years ago-" Emma started to be interrupted straight away by her son.

"You're supposed to start with "Once upon a time."

Emma softly shook her head. She had to know that Henry would become a real wiseacre when it came to telling stories. The kid practically lived inside the large, brown storybook.

"Hey hey. Who's telling the story here, Mr. Author?"

"You. Sorry." he said, his tone bearing an apology.

"Once upon a time," Emma adjusted the intro to her story to please Henry. "I worked at a diner. I was a simple waitress and my boss was this lady called Eloise. She was middle aged, had short red hair and always wore a badge with "my dinner is a winner" on it, referring to a cooking contest she once won."

"Did you like her?" Henry asked.

"Yes, she was incredibly kind and sweet." Emma said, thinking back of the woman.

Henry hummed and spoke again.

"So, she isn't the bad guy in this story." was his conclusion.

"Henry, not every story has a bad guy. You'll see that there are a lot of bad people in the world, but they are far outnumbered by the good ones."

It sounded like something Mary Margaret would say. Something full of hope. Emma had to admit, however, that it was true. Henry was a bit blinded by all of the stories sometimes. Clearly, Regina was not her favorite person in the world, not by a long mile, but branding her as the bad guy instead of a human who made mistakes went a bit too far according to Emma.

"But back to the story. Another one of my colleagues was a guy called Randy. He was not tall nor was he charming or attractive. He was more of a misfit. A very kind misfit. For years, he had a very obvious crush on Eloise. It was all doe-y eyes and yearning looks." Emma told Henry.

"Did she like him, too?"

"No, she had politely always declined his offers, saying that she didn't want to be more than friends." Emma explained. "Randy clearly didn't understand that."

Emma readjusted her position on the couch, stretching her legs who were starting to become numb.

"One morning, I had the early shift and that meant I had to open the diner. I went around the back and heard some ruckus inside. I grabbed the first thing I found, a wooden cutting board, and searched for the source of the noise." Emma said, recalling the feeling of fear she felt walking in the dark. "I got to the front and found Randy there. He had written "will you marry me" on the counter in ketchup. A message for Eloise of course."

"Ew, that's gross." Henry commented.

Emma could not do anything but agree with him.

"Yeah. Tell me about it. And guess who got to clean it."

"Randy." Henry guessed wrong.

"Nope. Randy took of when I caught him, his face the color of a tomato. No, I had to clean 12 containers of ketchup of off the stone counter. I was still cleaning when Eloise arrived, a questioning look on her face asking why I hadn't opened yet. I had no choice, but to tell her what happened. The disbelief was everywhere. She helped me take care of the last remnants. I got an extra bonus that week for my extra labor, one that was detained from Randy's paycheck and he paid for the containers of ketchup too. I don't know what Eloise told him, but Randy was never to be seen again." Emma finished.

"Aren't you going to tell me I need to end with "and they lived happily ever after"?" Emma inquired.

When no answer came, Emma checked if Henry was still there by saying his name but that remained unanswered too. She could hear his light and steady breathing, though. Emma curled her lips in a smile.

"Good night, kid."


	3. i could drown in your eyes

**An Enchanted Forest Lieutenant Duckling AU paralleling the Lake Nostos scene in season 1**

From the first moment Killian Jones lays eyes on her, he is incredibly captivated by her.

How can he not?

The light of the sun shines on her blonde hair, transforming her locks into gold. She sits next to her parents, on a throne that is slightly smaller than her mother's but still adorned with silver curls and an array of precious stones. Her face bears a serious but kind look, perfectly fit for a princess.

The king welcomes them all but Killian just can't tear away his gaze from the vision in white. Her dress is simple in an elegant way and the top part has matching white feathers. Those of a swan, he suspects.

The ball is officially started as the musicians take their instruments and start the first song of the evening. Hopefully he glances over to the three royals but there is no movement.

It would be bad form to remain standing when there are young ladies yearning for a dance, so Killian walks over to one and asks the brown haired girl to join him on the dance floor. She bows before him and follows his steps. They dance and their small talk interweaves with the music. The song softly abates and he smiles kindly to the lady while releasing her grip with another bow.

He repeats this several times, the action occasionally being delayed when Killian grabs a metal cup of wine off one of the trays and lavishes his throat with the rich liquid.

After a while, his lungs , accustomed to living on a ship, crave fresh air. He sets the cup back and makes his way to the grand gardens. The sun has started to disappear and announces the arrival of the evening.

Killian strolls around, his feet taking him anywhere and everywhere. There is a faint echo of the music in the hall resonating outside. Vines surround the entire garden but they are not weed. No, they are neatly kept and growing in patterns similar to the loops on the thrones. Killian narrows his eyes as he notices something. He walks to a large amount of those vines and stretches his hand. As he suspected, the plants move along as he brushes them away.

He should best be returning to the ball, but his curiosity grows about what lies behind them. He casts a look behind his shoulder. The garden is empty save himself. Quickly, he disappears behind the green.

The short tunnel takes him to another garden, smaller in size but filled with plants that make those in the place he just was look like simple dandelions. He observes them thoroughly and when he thinks he has seen enough and finds it time to return, he walks back.

The vines rustle and Killian freezes as he sees who enters through them. As her eyes fall on him, her expression becomes startled. Standing before him is the princess. He takes some steps back, even though he knows there's not an passage out that way.

"Who are you?" she asks warily.

Killian ducks down in a bow, feeling the embarrassment rise to the tips of his ears.

"I'm Lieutenant Killian Jones, Your Highness." he replies.

At least his voice is steady and not as shaky as Killian feels inside.

"Well, Lieutenant. I don't think you are supposed to be here."

He has never noticed the beauty of her eyes, never got close enough to her to witness the vibrant green with flecks of gold.

"I am not. I beg your pardon, Your Highness. I noticed the entrance and I am afraid my curiosity got the best of me." He gives her a smile while admitting why he is here.

The princess tilts her head, reading him.

"I suppose it is not the best concealed secret passage."

Her lips turn upwards as well and encourage Killian to smile even wider. She is beautiful.

On one of his voyages, Killian came across a seer in a hidden alley. She told him how every person had an essence about them, a color surrounding their entire body and soul. Killian is convinced that the princess' color would be the purest white imaginable.

"I'm afraid it is not. I will not bother you any longer, Your Highness. Please let me express my remorse yet another time." he says.

"I don't mind you being here, Lieutenant. It seems you were in need of an escape from the party as well. That is exactly the purpose this place was build for."

She walks closer, her dress swaying as she does and sits down on the grey, stone bench. Killian does not move, only remains in place. He is unsure of his next step. Does he leave and bid her goodnight? Does he stay here and wait until she addresses him again? The princess speaks again and puts him out of his misery.

"Do sit down, Lieutenant. The bench is wide enough to allow us both to sit while remaining a respectable distance."

She says those last words with distaste. It tells Killian that she isn't very fond of custom and tradition. Being the crown princess most likely meant that she is overwhelmed with rules.

"Of course, Your Higness." Killian complies and sits on the bench too.

"Tell me. Aren't you a bit young to be a Lieutenant? You must be what… twenty five?" she guesses.

"I am twenty three years old, Your Highness."

Yes, that is an exceptionally young age to be lieutenant. Most sailors only become one after years of service, but when your brother is captain and didn't want any other man to be his right hand, it becomes easier.

"My brother Liam is the captain of our ship The Jewel of the Realm." Killian continues. "He appointed me lieutenant."

The princess nods in understanding. Her strands move along with the movement.

"The Jewel of the Realm." she repeats, her eyebrows lightly creased. "I think I've heard father talk about her before."

Killian smiles at her.

"Only good things, I hope, Your Highness."

"Hmmm, I think that's confidential information, Lieutenant. I guess you'll never know." she says.

She shrugs with an entertained grin on her face, her eyes filled with playfulness. It shows her youth. Killian doesn't think they are many years apart, but their lives have been very different. The harsh conditions of sea have forced him to grow up while the princess remains protected by the large castle walls.

"How mean of you, Your Highness." Killian teases her back.

"So, you've seen a lot of the world."

"I have, Your Highness. Of this world and others."

Killian has been a fortunate man. There is no feeling like disembarking in a strange, unknown place with everything to discover.

"You can call me Emma, you know." she comments.

Killian's eyes widen. He wasn't expecting the princess of the Enchanted Forest to ask to call her by her given name. But she has shown her objection against the usual standards and titles are a part of those.

"Oh, I mustn't. It would not be appropriate." Killian tries to refuse.

The princess shakes her head to show she does not mind.

"It won't do any harm, Lieutenant." she says.

"I still feel inclined to resist, Your Highness."

"Fine." she faintly sighs. "But at least drop the 'your highnesses', because they belong to my parents and call me Princess Emma."

Killian goes quiet for a while, considering her proposal. He sees nothing wrong with it and agrees.

"Baby steps, right?"

Princess Emma actually winks at him and it happens at the same moment his heart decides to flutter.

They talk for a long time while the night settles over the land and forces them to reluctantly say their goodbyes.

"Would you like to come back?" she hesitantly asks him, her fingers shyly brushing some hair behind her ear.

"I would love to, Princess. Just say when." he replies the second her sentence is finished off with the question mark.

"There's a secret passageway that goes from the outside of the castle to the gardens. It's a bit better hidden than this one, but I think you'll see it when you get to it. Come tomorrow at noon."

Princess Emma stands up, her hands brushing over her white dress trying to get rid of the wrinkles. Killian looks up at her and meets her sparkling eyes.

"Until tomorrow then?" Her lips have become a hopeful smile.

Killian nods.

"Until tomorrow, Princess. Good night."

"Good night, Killian."

He waits for some time on the bench in the dark and attempts to figure out if his mind had just imagined all of their meeting. But then he sees a white feather on the ground, one that must have come off her dress and finally has proof. His fingers pick it up and carefully tuck it away. His Swan.

* * *

He comes the next day and she awaits him, again they talk about everything and the day after that they do it again. It becomes their thing.

Sometimes they go a long time without a meeting because Killian is at sea or one of them falls ill but when that passes over, they are always there. Princess Emma turns into Emma and Emma becomes more courageous every day, daring to leave the castle grounds, daring to trust him.

Until one day, she suggests they go somewhere, surprising Killian who eagerly agreed. Killian brings the horses and Emma brings her cloak to hide her from the eye of the people. They pick a place by the water and together they unpack the meal Killian has brought along.

When they are both sitting down facing the lake, Emma speaks.

"I told my parents about you today."

It makes Killian change the direction of his look to her. He draws his eyebrows together. She told her parents about him. What did she tell them?

"You did?" he asks while handing her a stem with green grapes on it.

Emma hums while accepting the fruit and pulling on off it. She pops the grape in her mouth.

"They asked where I kept disappearing to and it felt like it was time. So, I told them about you. You should've seen their faces, Killian." Emma says to him, amused with the memory. "It looked like their eyes were about to pop out of their head. My mother was so scandalized. She started talking about suitors and how they are expected to officially announce their love for me. My father was just standing sternly next to her. It was hilarious."

Emma laughs. Every time she does, Killian is reminded of how lucky he is to be in her presence. To have gotten to know her. She is extraordinary.

"When my mother was done, I could finally explain that it wasn't even like that. We're obviously not in love and I told her that you're just my best friend. Mom calmed down after that and Dad looked very relieved."

Killian smiles and tells her that it's luckily they calmed down. He ignores the little sting he feels when she says they are just friends, because that's what they are: the best of friends. The privilege he has to call her that will never diminish.

However, feelings have grown out of the small seed that was planted the first time he saw her. How hard Killian had tried to stop it, the seed had sprung and brought complication into his head.

When Emma lays her head on his shoulder with a happy sigh, it makes Killian scrunch his face.

"Did you bring dessert?" Emma asks when their meal is eaten.

Dessert. He knew he was going to forget something. Emma is a sweet tooth. Dessert is the most important part of her meal. How is he going to explain that he forgot the sugar?"

"Oh, I forgot it, lass. I'm sorry."

"That's alright." Emma reassures him. "Let's see. Some cookies."

Emma motions her hand and a platter of chocolate chip cookies appear on the blanket.

"What about some chocolate?" she continues, her magic conjuring up the treats. "And lastly, two cups of hot chocolate with cinnamon."

It is her favorite drink, so it isn't really a surprise as she finishes of with that. Killian smiles warmly at her.

"You are brilliant, Swan." Killian compliments her.

"Thanks." she replies proudly, the stunning smile on her face revealing her teeth.

Emma grew up with magic, she told him, the purest magic of them all because of the true love her parents feel for each other. Killian had to admit: the white sparks were enchanting. Exactly like the person who controlled them.

There are lots of evil people in the world, scheming malicious plans to conduct with dark magic but Emma only uses it for good. She is the light her magic conveys.

Then comes the notorious day.

* * *

Killian waits and waits on the bench but there's no sign of her. He taps his feet on the ground, trying to defer his thoughts from going to a bad place.

If Emma is sick, he should've known by now. Usually there would be a note delivered by one of her servants. There's nothing on the ground, he has checked multiple times.

Killian considers all of his options, but the worry is unsettling, so he takes the pathway back to where he came from and goes to the regular entrance of the castle. He hasn't been here since the ball. Emma's secret way proved very useful.

The courtyard is filled with people and stalls. Nobody gives him a second look here, but it's in the castle he needs to get. There are two considerably tall knights standing guard and Killian knows that he can never overpower them. Nor should he, because that would change his chance of seeing Emma to impossible.

One of the guards grumbles. "State your name and reason you are here."

"I am Lieutenant Killian Jones. I am here to see the crown princess." he replies.

"The princess is not to be visited today. Come back another time."

Killian was expecting this answer, but at least now he knows she's here. It still doesn't answer why she didn't come.

"If you could just tell her that Lieutenant Killian Jones is here. I'm sure she will tell you to let me in." Killian tries to reason.

"The princess is not to be visited today. Come back another time." the man repeats another time.

The clear warning in his voice causes Killian to back up. He sighs. Suddenly his eyes recognize a familiar face.

"Lily!" he calls.

Lily is Emma's handmaiden. She is one of the people who would deliver the notes if Emma was detained and Emma always informed her if they left the castle.

The girl looks up and he runs to her.

"Is everything alright with E- with the princess?"

He has to remember to address her correctly. They're in the castle now.

Lily's amber eyes have sad shine to them, only confirming Killian's fear.

"You can call her Emma with me. I do too. But not here." Lily urges him to follow her.

The guards do let her pass and when they motion towards Killian with a questioning look, she says that he's with her.

"I don't know what exactly happened." Lily tells him once they're inside. "But there was so much chaos this morning. They were having people over for audiences like they do every Wednesday but then a woman approached and attacked Emma. I have no idea how she did it, because they usually have knights there to protect them. The King and Queen isolated Emma and have been by her side the entire day."

She leads him through the maze-like halls of the castle with a hurried and halts at a dark red door.

"Let me see if I can find someone who knows what happened. Wait here."

Lily did not even slightly reassure him, she only increased the rapid and painful beating of his heart. He waits for what feels like an eternity, wondering if Emma is alright, wondering what lies behind the door Lily closed behind her.

It creaks back open and Lily reappears.

"Follow me." she says shortly and so Killian does.

A couple of doors down she stops again.

"Go inside."

The brunette leaves him standing before the door. He looks at her and back to the door. He wants to ask her what's inside, or who is inside, but the handmaiden has disappeared.

There's a golden doorknob and Killian grabs it hesitatingly. When he peaks inside before entering, he sees the bookcases. They reach the ceiling and every one of them is completely filled. Killian walks in. He lets his gaze slide over all of the covers when a voice speaks to him.

"You must be Lieutenant Jones." the man behind him says.

Killian turns around and is standing face to face with King David of the Enchanted Forest. His eyes widen and he quickly bows.

"Your Majesty. It's an honor to meet you."

The King waves away his statement and Killian sees the lines of worry on his face.

"I do wish it was in other circumstances." he says.

"Emma-" Killian cringes. "The Princess, I mean. Is she alright? I heard about the attack."

"You can leave the titles and formalities. There's time for that on another occasion. Not now." he speaks.

"Let's sit down, shall we?" he suggests and Killian agrees.

There are two brown reading sofas standing in the room and the King seats himself in one of them.

"Years ago, before Emma was born, my wife and I vanquished her evil stepmother. She was banished to another land and had to spend the rest her days there. She followed the rules and made that we did not need to worry about her."

Killian listens attentively to the story the King is telling.

"This morning, Regina escaped the house she had to stay in and appeared in the castle. She attacked Emma with magic. Our knights were able to overpower her and kill her but Emma was knocked unconscious."

The King's hand comes to rub his temple as he informs Killian.

"She's awake now but the blast took away her magic."

Killian's next breath is a sharp one. Emma without magic is like a ship with no water to sail on. She's still there, she exists but she just can't do what it loves to do. What defines her. Emma has to be devastated.

"Can I see her?" Killian asks, imagining the sadness Emma would be feeling.

He needs to see her, so he can comfort her and whisper soothing words into her hair and simply be there for her.

"She hasn't said a word. Snow is with her right now but I know how much you mean to her. Maybe you can get her to talk again."

The King stands back up and Killian rapidly does the same. They leave the library and walk in a hall filled with big windows that let the light of the day in. He could see the gardens where Emma and he spent nearly all of their time together. The King knocks on the door. It's a strange sight seeing the king, the most powerful person of the country, ask for permission to enter in a room of his own palace. His wife answers the door, closing it behind her as she joins them outside. Her eyes look red, the Queen has clearly been crying, but that does not obstruct the kindness with which she looks at him.

"You must be Killian." She manages to smile. "I'm Snow."

King David turns to Queen Snow and speaks to her.

"Killian would like to see her. He could help."

"Of course. That's a very good idea. Finally some hope. David, maybe we could go eat something. I am truly starving." she says.

The King nods and Queen Snows gives Killian permission to enter.

"You can go in, Killian. We'll give you some time."

"Thank you, Your Majesties."

They walk away in an embrace and Emma's father places a kiss on her mother's dark hair. Killian can finally witness the True Love stories are written about.

He goes inside the room. From the setting and details, he figures these are Emma's bedchambers. His look falls on her, lying immobile in her bed, her eyes staring at the wall. There is a little crack in his chest, the sound of his heart breaking.

"Emma." he says, announcing his presence before stepping closer to her bed.

Her stare does not move, so he walks to the direction she is facing and squats down in order for his eyes to meet her. Her motionless expression breaks as the tears start to form in her eyes.

"Oh, Swan."

Killian gets back up and goes to the other side of the bed. He settles on her bed.

"Come here." he says, hoping she'll accept his invitation.

The bed moves as Emma does the same and crawls into his embrace, the tears rolling down her cheek. She's shaking and Killian tightens his arms around her.

"It's all gone." her small voice says.

"I know, love."

Killian kisses the top of her head.

* * *

It takes three days to convince Emma to leave her bedroom. Three days where Killian is nearly always at her side.

Killian first goes to Liam to ask some days off, his brother grants him his leave, saying that he deserves some vacation time.

The King and Queen prepare a room for Killian where he can sleep. The room is close to Emma's, only two halls away. That way he can be there when she needs him.

His free time he spends with Belle, the librarian, looking for a way to restore Emma's magic. He tries to convince her she doesn't need magic, but she won't listen.

* * *

It's been two weeks and no one has an answer on how to restore magical powers. Emma changes. She is far more direct, lashes out at Killian, at her parents when all they are trying to do is help.

Without her magic, Emma is a shell of who she was before.

"Emma, you can't yell at Lily like that."

The girl in question shrugs as if it is okay, but Killian sees the hurt in her face.

"Who are you? My mother?" Her lips are angrily pursed and her eyes are daggers directed to Killian.

"No, I'm not but you simply can't treat people like that." Killian attempts to reason with her. "I know you lost your magic, but that doesn't mean you need to be like this."

"You don't know how it feels to have a part of your soul ripped away. A part of your being. Imagine if you lost a hand and you could never sail again. How would you feel?" she demands with a loud voice.

Bloody terrible, he knows that. He'd probably be even angrier than she is right now, but that's because he has a temper. A temper that has been incredibly hard to control the last two weeks. Emma isn't like that. At least she wasn't. When Killian looks at her now, he sees a dull grey instead of the white she once wore.

"I know you are feeling bad, Emma." he starts but Emma puts her hand in the air and stops him.

"No, you don't."

"Swan, come on." he sighs.

"Swan? I'm not Swan anymore. I don't have magic. I'm just simple Emma." Emma yells, while throwing her hands in the air.

Killian's tone rises as well. He is getting sick of this.

"And what is wrong with that? You are still Emma. You are still my best friend."

You are still the woman I love.

"We both know I'm not. I'm nothing!" she shouts back and all Killian wants to do is hug her. "I'm filled with anger for the person who took my magic away, but she's dead. I am mad at someone who's rotting in the ground. But the anger won't go away."

The tears that were welling up in her eyes fall down.

"I am going to make this right."

"How?"

"I don't know." he says. "But I am."

* * *

Belle comes to him when he is eating in his room, knocking hurriedly on the wood.

"Killian. I think I found it." she says when he opens, his mouth filled with bread.

Her eyes are big and she smiles widely as he lets her in. The big book is placed on the table and Belle flips it open.

"Lake Nostos." Killian reads off of the page.

"It has magical properties." Belle says in her foreign accent. "It returns what has been lost. If she would drink the water…"

"Emma would have magic again."

"the princess would get her powers back."

They both say it at the same time. Killian is amazed. Belle figured it out.

"Belle, you are a genius." he says while smiling at her.

She lifts her shoulders and replies that she's simply a good librarian.

"The best." Killian insists. "Have you told anyone else?"

Belle shakes her head.

"Good. Don't. I'm going by myself. I don't want anyone, especially not Emma to get their hopes up and to see them shatter down again."

Belle clearly isn't a fan of the plan because she starts giving reasons why it is a bad idea. None of them can change his mind, though. Not even her warning about the guardian of the lake. It is Emma. She is worth it. He is going.

* * *

The lake lies on the border of the kingdom and would take about 5 hours on horseback to reach. Killian leaves in the night, tiptoeing out of his room and taking Emma's secret route out of the castle, so he is not noticed by anyone.

It is better this way. Now no questions would be asked about his destination or the reason of his voyage. He should return before the afternoon. Maybe Emma will miss him, he doesn't know but it's for her he is doing it.

The sun rises as he gets there, greeting him like a welcoming sign and Killian gets off the dark steed. He lets him graze in the grass that lies not too far and walks over to the water. His eyes scan the surroundings, but do not notice anything amiss nor does he see the guardian Belle spoke of.

Out of his satchel, Killian grabs his canteen. He walks on the small stones and reaches the water. Bending down, he dips the container in the water and it gurgles into the leather pouch. As he straightens his back, he notices her.

The faint morning glow reflects on her silvery skin. She has long, blonde hair in which she wears a crown with silver pearls. Her elegant face is decorated by a kind smile.

"Hello, Killian."

Her voice is melodious, nearly like a song.

"Why don't you come into the water." the creature suggest.

Killian shakes his head. He knows her kind. She's a siren, Liam has warned him enough about the women, if you can call them that. Her only goal is to kill him by luring him into the lake. He can't get killed or distracted when Emma is back in the castle.

"You'll like it here, I swear. I know how much you love the sea, swimming in here is much the same." The siren attempts again.

"No." Killian finally finds his voice.

The word knocks the kind look off her face and brings an evil smile.

"You are only the second one to resist me in this form. Maybe you like me better when I'm her."

And gone is the creature. Instead of silver hair, it becomes gold. The brown eyes become lively green ones. Before him stands Emma. He tries to tell himself it's not her, but his eyes keep on proving that it is. Emma's nose, Emma's mouth, Emma's freckles. Emma.

She smiles at him and it has been so long since Killian has been a witness to a happy Emma.

"Killian, I have an idea. Let's swim!" Emma says with such joy that Killian smiles back and lets the water come to his anckles. She reminds Killian of Emma the day they met.

Her outstretched hand is waiting on his and closes around Killian's hand when he touches the warm palm.

"Come on. Hurry up." she softly pulls. "We don't have all day."

Each step takes him deeper and first the water comes to his knees, but soon his thighs disappear under the surface too. Emma dives under and after taking a deep breath, Killian follows her.

It takes a while for his eyes to adjust to the water in his eyes. He finally opens them fully and sees Emma descend even deeper into the lake. Killian swims after her, wanting to hear the infectious sound of her laugh again.

They reach the bottom of the lake and Killian finally catches up with her. His lungs scream for fresh air but he can easily ignore the feeling when he is with her.

Small, black dots come to cloud his vision, Killian uselessly tries to blink them away, but they don't. More dots join even. He looks at Emma but she is still smiling at him.

A feeling of panic enters in his mind. The bottom of the lake suddenly turns into harnassses and helmets, withered and rusted after years in the water. This isn't Emma. Emma isn't happy right now. Emma's eyes are more troubled. Emma doesn't have a smile on her face, but Killian is going to bring it back. That's why he is here.

He moves his limbs in an attempt to get back up, to fresh air, but Emma- the creature stops him. Her head moves and she clings to him, the extra weight keeping him down. He's tired and the black dots are becoming a black blur. His eyes look around, frantically searching for something to release the siren's grip. He sees a small curved object. It looks like a hook. One used for fishing or something.

His hand moves around and when he finally manages to grab the item, he closes his eyes, while stabbing it right in her heart. The grip loosens and Killian swims back up. When he breaks the surface, he completely fills his lungs with the air he inhales. The black dots fade away and return his vision.

The tiredness is consuming his body but he needs to make Emma drink the water. For hours he sits on the horse again, every gallop waking him from his second of sleep. The castle comes into sight and Killian feels relieved.

"Lily." he says when he sees the servant bearing a basket of food in the hallway.

"Killian. Where have you been? The King and Queen have been looking for you for hours." she asks with a worried look.

"Tell them I'm here and tell them to make Emma drink this." Killian hands Lily the canteen. "Be careful with it."

He would do it himself but he feels like collapsing the middle of this hallway. He doesn't want to miss the moment gets her magic back but his head is pounding, his body aches and he needs to sleep.

The bed is looking so welcoming and he falls down in it, not bothering to take his clothes off.

* * *

"About time you wake up." A voice says when he opens his eyes and lifts his head.

Soon enough he realizes that it's not just a voice but Emma's. He hurriedly sits up and looks at her face.

"Did it work?" he asks, hoping the answer to be yes.

Emma doesn't answer, she merely moves her hand and a breakfast follows, appearing on the table.

"It did. Thank you, Killian." She walks over to him and tackles him with a hug on the bed.

"Ooh." Killian says, surprised by her attack.

"I owe you everything." Emma whispers against his shoulder. "Thank you for making me Emma again."

"You were always Emma."

She always will be. Even if she is in a bad mood or angry at everyone, he will always love Emma.

* * *

King David and Queen Snow want to celebrate the return of Emma's magic and host a dinner, just for the four of them. They talk about Killian, because Emma's parents finally want to learn about the man their daughter considers her best friend, one that has risked his life for her.

"Water from Lake Nostos, was it." King David asks.

Killian nods, surprised that he knows of it.

"You have heard of it?" he asks in return.

"I have been there. I fought the siren myself to help an old friend. I completely forgot about it and how it could have helped Emma." He shook his head while softly criticizing himself.

"No worries." Killian reassures him. "Emma has her magic back, so everything is good."

Emma smiles at him from across the table and he does the same.

"Of course. Just curious, did she change into another form with you as well?"

Taking a bit of his food, Killian nods.

"Ah, I suspected so. She became Snow with me." His wife throws him a funny look. "I told you about that, honey." King David reacts to it. "How she said I love you and I knew she wasn't you because it didn't feel true."

"Oh that's right. I remember now. Who did she become with you?" Queen Snow raises a curious eyebrow.

Killian swallows his food and wipes his mouth with the napkin.

"Emma."

Emma looks up when she hears her name.

"Clearly the siren couldn't say I love you to me because I would instantly know it wasn't her. As Emma once put it: we are obviously not in love. No, she simply asked me to come with her and I did. After a while it did dawn on me that Emma was waiting here and needed the water."

"And we can't thank you enough." Queen Snow replies.

After dinner, Killian finds himself wandering in the gardens and he can't resist going back to their place. He sits back on the grey bench.

It's time to go home. Emma is healed now and all better, but Killian still has his feelings for her. He can't let them intervene in their friendship, it is too risky. Some time on the Jewel would do him good. The harsh winds could erase them for some time. Deep down he knows that the second he would set foot in here again, they would come crashing down.

"I thought I would find you here." Emma says, suddenly standing in the gardens.

"It's tradition." he replies. "I thought I could come by before I leave."

"You're leaving?" she asks while sitting down.

He moves his head in confirmation.

"I have had more than three weeks off. It's about time I returned to my brother."

"I get it." Emma sounds sad after hearing about his departure. "I'm amazed of all the things you did for me at Lake Nostos. Did she really look like me?"

"Exactly. She had the freckle you have here." His fingers taps on the spot near her nose. "And you're dimple. She had your eyes and your hair. Just like you."

"But you knew it wasn't me."

"You are my best friend. I always know." Killian says and winks at her while grinning.

"I don't think you always know." Emma replies.

It makes Killian raise his eyebrow. He knows everything about her. What could be the thing Emma is talking about?

Emma continues to speak.

"I don't think you know that I love you. That I loved you even when I said that thing at the lake. I don't think you know I have loved you since day five."

No. He did not know. Because if he had, he would have told her that he did since day one. He would have kissed her and held her. So many things he would have done if he knew.

Now, he knows.


	4. love is surprising each other

**The prompt:** **Killian trying to propose to Emma and she already knows the surprise but doesn't want to ruin it so tries to act surprised**

Emma Swan is not a surprise kind of person. Never will she understand the charm of it. Surprises are usually less fun than they sound. When she was younger, she didn't get amazed by things like a birthday party or a new toy; it was more like "hey, we don't want you in our family anymore. Surprise!"

Her life has changed drastically since then, has become much more warm and caring. The only surprises she gets are those from people who love her and want to spoil her. And yet, Emma does not like surprises.

It's the whole secretive behavior that doesn't sit well with her. Her enhanced lie detector starts to ring and honk as a warning when somebody is being untruthful and it scares Emma. Her mind starts racing with reasons why said somebody could be lying or tries to find an explanation as to what they could be hiding. By the time the big moment comes around, Emma usually has it all figured out, being a sheriff comes in handy sometimes, and every time she acts like she was not suspecting anything.

Occasionally, Emma accidentally stumbles on something.

That's how it happens with what should be the biggest surprise of her life.

Whoops.

It's a day in March. An absolutely ordinary day. Henry is at school, Killian at the harbor and Emma arrives home after her shift. Work exhausted her body, bringing about a demand of sleep. The house will remain empty for a couple more hours and the silence inhabiting it is perfect for a nap.

She doesn't sleep for long, forty minutes tops, but when Emma wakes, her body is recharged with the energy it was drained from. Her eyes dart towards the clock on her bedroom wall. It will still be some time before either of her boys are back. Getting out of the sheets of her bed, Emma contemplates the thing she is going to do next.

She could read a book or catch up on some shows that have been perishing in her Netflix queue. But liveliness runs through her veins and wasting it while focusing on a sheet or a screen would be foolish.

Bridging the hallway, Emma takes a look in the bathroom. The laundry basket stands in the corner of the room, next to its entrance. Clothes are nearly spilling over the borders of the black bin; the lid isn't even able to close anymore. It's laundry time.

Killian's adjustment to modern life in general has been great.

He masters cooking with an oven like a pro. His cheese, spinach, mashed potatoes, carrots and meatballs oven dish (hachis parmentier, Swan. It's French) is to die for.

His brick phone has been updated to a smartphone and Emma has to hide her bewilderment each time he sends an email with a link of an interesting article he read or a shares video she should watch.

They take turns doing the laundry, he manages to make it near to perfect, but sometimes her pirate can be a bit hasty or forgetful. That leads to various trinkets in the laundry or soggy, unreadable pieces of paper.

Now, without exception, Emma makes herself check his pockets because she does not want a repeat of what happened when he forgot to take out some coins (disaster, that's what happened. And lots of smoke. And a broken machine.)

Her hand reaches into the back pockets, her fingers foraging for something that doesn't belong there. Contently, Emma turns the pair of pants around and feels inside the left pocket. Nothing. When her hand slips inside the right one, there's a crack of paper. Killian did forget something before throwing his pants on the pile. Emma takes the white, folded piece out of the black fabric. She lays it on the table and resumes her work with the other clothing.

The detergent is added, the temperature is set. Everything is good to go and Emma presses the big, green button. In about two hours she'll return to put the clothes in the dryer. Emma leaves the basement and runs upstairs to see if there's anything else to be done. The cabinets are looking a bit dusty and the plants could definitely use some water.

Before Emma realizes how much time has passed, the washer beeps two times and as she makes her way downstairs, it beeps another time, demanding attention. The red apple in her hand Emma grabbed to still the cries of her stomach is set aside as she transfers the clothes from the left machine to the right. Again, she presses the button the start the cycle. She picks her apple off the surface and sees the white square.

Right, the unwelcome traveler in Killian's pants. The small square quickly becomes two and keeps on doubling while Emma unfolds the paper. She needs to know if it's something important that needs to be kept or if it can be thrown away. A confused hum escapes Emma's lips while seeing the first two words.

 _SPARK! Jewelry_

It's a receipt, Emma reads, for a ring. An engagement ring that is described in detail on the bill. To get as much distance between her and the paper, Emma's hand hurriedly throws it away. It lands on the ground, the letters still visible.

Shit.

Her breaths come quicker and her mind floods with questions. Killian is going to propose? When is he planning to do it? Is she going to like the ring? What is she supposed to do now? When was the ring bought?

The receipt is still on the floor, a corner of the paper hidden by the dryer. Emma grabs it between her fingers and lets the information on it answer some of her questions. The date tells Emma Killian bought it a month ago. If that isn't a testimony of how big the laundry pile was getting, Emma doesn't know what is.

Clearly Killian hasn't proposed yet, her bare finger is proof of that, but if he bought the ring a month ago, that would mean the moment is nearing.

The sound of the front door opening reaches Emma's ears and causes her to freeze. Closing her eyes, she starts wishing it isn't Killian. Luckily, she feels her muscles untense when it's not Killian's accented speech but Henry's voice calling her to ask if she's there.

"Yeah, I'm down here. I'll be up in a second."

Emma looks back at the note held between her hands, considering her options. Throwing it away would probably not be a good idea; what if the ring is too big or small and they need to return to have it adjusted? She can't just leave it somewhere for Killian to find either, because he would start to question its sudden appearance.

From the laundry room, Emma quickly runs to their bedroom, avoiding Henry munching on a pear in the kitchen. She knows just the place to hide it. Emma goes to her bedside table and opens the wooden drawer to take out her memory box. Killian will never look in here without her permission or Emma's presence. This is the best spot to keep it. Emma glances at the mirror and sees herself smiling. Killian is going to propose. No doubt in her mind about what she's going to reply

There was a time where fiancé and marriage would equal never in her life in Emma's mind. Every single time she saw some woman with a too big ring on her left ring finger bragging about it to her friends, she would roll her eyes and she would roll them well. Marriage felt as if people were wasting money to prove to the rest of the world that they loved each other. Emma had promised herself that no would be her answer if the day came she got proposed to (back then, she was highly skeptical about whether that day would actually come)

But then, she met the love of her life.

Emma is content with the life they live, is happy with their relationship. She doesn't feel the need to change their status. They're living together, her kid sees Killian as a father, some magical test told them they are true love. She has known for a long time that he is it for her and knows he feels the same. They're practically married already. Killian is old fashioned, courtesy of his millennium of living, and marriage is something very important to him. So, a ring and official title won't make a lot of difference.

No, marrying Killian doesn't sound too bad at all.

-/-

If Killian ever proposes, that is.

After two weeks, Emma has already damned him for forgetting the note and transforming her into a paranoid… whatever.

Every single nice thing he does, brings an opportunity.

Killian grabs her lunch… Oh, he's going to propose now.

Think again.

He comes home from work a little earlier and wants to cook for her… Where's the ring?

Still in the same place it has been for over a month probably.

After every "I love you", Emma waits for the "and I want to spend the rest of my life with you." But it never shows up.

-/-

"Swan?" Killian says, making Emma's eyes leave the page they were on and focus on his face.

Emma hums in response, a sweet smile on her lips.

"You want to join me on the Jolly's first sail after winter?" he asks.

Emma closes the book in her hands and turns a bit more towards Killian.

"Isn't Henry your first mate?" Emma questions with her brows drawn together. "Surely, he should be the one to join you."

It takes about half a second before Killian replies.

"Henry declined, saying that he had homework to do, so I thought you'd maybe like to come," he says.

Emma pushes her glasses back on her nose. Henry would never say no to a sail with Killian, especially if it was the first in a long time and definitely not to make his homework instead. Killian never asked Henry, Emma concludes.

This has to be it. Her nerves start to buzz with excitement and Emma has to contain her smile. Of course Killian would propose on his ship and not in some random moment. That's why it took him so long. He was awaiting the moment the weather would grant them a sail again.

"Sure," Emma replies, the nonchalance of her voice contradicting the erratic beating of her heart. "I'll change and put my contacts in."

Killian shakes his head, his eyes filled with admiration.

"That won't be necessary, love. You look perfectly fine for a short sail."

The walk to the docks is silent, but not an awkward silence. Killian and Emma don't have those, conveniently enough, maybe it's a perk of being true love. They just enjoy each other's company and savor every moment they're together.

It's still somewhat cold, but the sun is shining in a cloudless sky with a breeze in the background. Emma's recently acquired naval knowledge tells her that it is indeed perfect to sail again.

She helps Killian as much as she can, but he is used to doing it all by himself, so Emma mostly admires him. And not to forget his muscles.

The town becomes smaller and smaller until it turns into a line at the horizon. Killian walks up to her standing at the rim. Her hair is floating any and every way the wind is taking it and Emma occasionally removes a lock away from her glasses. His arms come to envelop her waste. Sensing him, she leans back against his chest. They stand there for a while, softly swaying on the deck of the Jolly Roger. Killian presses a kiss on Emma's cheek. It makes Emma frown seeing that he releases her from his embrace right after it.

"Easy, Swan. I'm simply going to look for some food inside. I'm famished," Killian explains.

Right, "food". One of Emma's smiles serves as forgiveness and prompts Killian to disappear below deck.

The ship has stopped moving and Emma walks around for a bit, absorbing the view of the endless ocean. Killian's footsteps announce his return.

"I found some fruit and bread." Emma looks at the platter Killian is carrying. "It's a meager meal, I know, but it will keep us running until we get back home and eat something proper."

"It's okay," Emma replies.

Is she wrong again? Is this just a sail and nothing else?

No more, Emma decides. No more expecting it to happen and being disappointed when it doesn't. It's quite frankly ruining these lovely moments that Killian gives her. She shouldn't always think there's a specific reason for it. The only reason he has, is that he loves her. That's enough.

"Are you alright there, Swan?" Killian asks, a reassuring smile immediately following.

It's enough.

"Yes," Emma answers with a smile back. "I am.

She picks an apple off the tray and walks around again, tracing her finger along the curve of the ship and watching the blue water below it. Emma narrows her eyes and pushes her glasses up. There is something in the water. Is that a bottle?

"Killian?" Emma calls, her eyes still focused on the water surface. Killian comes closer to her. His eyebrow is raised. "Do you see that bottle floating around?" she continues when he's next to her.

"Aye, what about it?" he says, following her finger.

"It looks like something is in there."

"Let's take it out of the water then, Swan," Killian suggests.

His gaze runs across the deck and lands on a net. Emma is curious about the bottle. When Killian returns from the corner of the deck, she takes the net off of his hook and together they let it into the sea. Pulling the rope back in when they've successfully caught the bottle, Emma smiles. She was right. It's a message in a bottle.

"Let's open it!" Emma says excitedly.

"You've got the honor, love. I'm afraid it will be a bit difficult with this thing." Killian lifts his hook in an apologetic manner. His face shows a tinge of nervousness and it makes Emma's eyes widen.

Now?

Her hand curls around the bottle and her other fingers around wet piece of cork. The cap makes a popping sound as it comes loose. She tries to contain her eagerness while taking the paper out of the clear glass.

Unrolling the sheet, Emma creases her eyebrows in confusion.

"What? This is us, Killian."

She turns the charcoal drawing around to show him. It is copy of a picture that Mary Margaret took a couple of months ago. The thin, black lines show Emma's laughing face while Killian and Henry both kiss her one of her cheeks. The drawing is incredibly detailed, from the texture of her sweater to the rings on Killian's fingers.

"Do you think it's a threat from the next villain, because it's quite coincidental that _we_ find it? I should call Regina to make sure Henry is alright," she rambles.

This is seriously an Oscar worthy performance, Emma thinks to herself.

"Is there anything else on the paper?" Killian asks, leaning closer to Emma.

"Um, I'll check."

She turns it around and finds his writing on the back.

Now.

Her eyes race over the letters, too fast to actually retain any meaning and they restart their path.

 _My family. More than I deserve, but I'll never complain. Seeing this photograph only reminds me of how incredible life is with you. Sometimes hectic, yes, but I don't mind, because we have it all. Moments of softness and smiles. Hearts filled with love and joy. Perfectly imperfect. It's you, my Swan. It's us._

 _Forever?_

She might've known beforehand that this was going to happen but it does not prevent the tears from forming in her eyes and staining her glasses. It does not make the breath she takes any less afflicted by emotion. Killian's head has vanished from behind her shoulder and before Emma knows it, he is standing in front of her. The smile he gives her is one of Emma's favorites; the smile filled with love and just that pinch of mischief so typically him.

"My dearest Swan," he starts, " I remember the moment that we met as if it happened only days ago. The buzzing sound of anguish in my head became silence when I saw you. I remember the fierce look you gave me and the spark of light it ignited. I don't remember when I fell for you; I think there was never even a moment you did not have me on my knees and I consider myself lucky that it was for you."

His hand touches Emma's cheek, the rings on his fingers cool to her skin. His thumb flicks off a fallen tear.

"Because I have never met a more exceptional person in my life," Killian says.

It makes Emma roll her eyes. Her boyfriend (not for long anymore) lived for centuries and she, with her hot chocolates and mom duties and sheriff work, is the most special thing he has seen?

"It's true, my love. You have such strength and resilience. You are incredibly hard headed and skeptical, but love people with complete devotion. You have saved me uncountable times. I can't tell you how honored I am to be one of those people you love. That's the only thing I need."

Killian has this way of telling things. A way that makes Emma's brain melt and her heart thump. It chases away all of the words she knows away except for "this is too much" and makes that sentence repeat in her head over and over. It's the sincerity, she thinks. He doesn't tell her half truths or something that resembles the truth. No, when Killian tells her something, he means it completely.

"Our lives are perfect. We have a gorgeous house, your incredible boy living with us, I should not want more," he says while shaking his head. "But then everytime you smile, I want to be able to call you my wife. Every time you read your book with such concentration, wearing your glasses and oversized sweater, I want to be able to call you my wife. Every time you slip under my arm and lean into my chest, I want to be able to call you my wife."

He shuts his mouth for a beat, letting the words simmer around them. Before continuing, he gets down on his left knee, his right hand grabbing a velvet box out of his pocket.

"So, what do you think? Would you be all right with becoming my wife?"

The blue of his eyes acts as an anchor, keeping Emma from floating away of happiness. She hasn't even formed an answer yet when Killian grins at her, the happiness radiating off of his lips. He can read her like she was written for him and saw the big yes in her features.

"I guess I can live with that if that's what you want." Emma shrugs. " You know, being as in love with you as I am."

Killian can't reply because Emma crashes her lips against his. He nearly loses his balance, but can steady them both. He whispers "I love you." against her lips and she kisses him back. Killian breaks them apart to finally place the ring on Emma's finger. She had kind of forgotten about that part and has not paid attention to it yet.

The description on the store's receipt does not do it justice at all. It is simple and beautiful, just like Emma would want it. The band is a dark silver and the stone (not a diamond, thank you Zeus) is gorgeous. It resembles her magic; how it shimmers with the light and has a blue shine to it. Killian slips it onto her finger and it fits perfectly.

They're engaged!

Her mom is going to freak out.

-/-

They lie together in bed, Emma is toying with her ring, turning it around her finger and Killian simply staring at the ceiling. It's still their little secret, the engagement; they haven't told anyone yet. It remains theirs for the moment, once they announce it, it becomes the town's engagement and wedding and it will certainly be a bit overwhelming. She can already imagine Granny wanting to cater the whole thing and Ruby proposing things for her bachelorette party, Leroy exclaiming his opinion too loudly and her mother… Her mother will be definitely be the worst.

"Swan," Killian says. He waits for a sound from Emma to go any further. "Was this really a surprise?"

There goes her Academy Award.

Emma grimaces, the move being hidden by the shadows of the night. She thinks about a good answer and eventually goes for an open "Maybe?"

"Did Henry tell you?"

Emma's hand follows the night light's cable until it reaches the switch. Her eyes need to adjust to the brightness and when they do, Emma turns around to Killian.

"Henry knew?" she questions in disbelieving way.

"Aye." Killian nods his head. "He knew from the beginning, helped me pick out the ring and everything."

So when she found the note, Henry already knew for over a month. And he didn't tell her.

"I swore him to secrecy, of course."

"No, he didn't tell me," Emma answers.

Killian frowns and gets a pensive look on his face. He is clearly trying to figure out how she figured it out. Emma decides to help out a bit.

"Babe, you left the receipt of the ring in your pants and it was my turn to do the laundry."

The frown turns into big eyes and embarrassment.

"Hey, it's okay," Emma reassures him.

"You must be disappointed, Swan. Having known it all along."

"Are you kidding me? Clearly, I'm not. Look at this." Emma lifts her ringed hand. "It's unbelievable. Thank you. I love you."

Maybe her resentment of surprises will be gone in the not so distant future. If they are all like this one, she wouldn't mind not seeing it coming. Knowing Killian, there are certainly a few more to survive.

"I love you, too," Killian says before kissing her.

After a few more moments of silence, the light being extinguished again, a question forms in Emma's mind.

"How did _you_ know that I knew?"

A low chuckle fills the room and Killian pulls Emma a bit closer to him.

"Open book, my love, open book"


	5. everything falls into place

**Pro** **mpt:** **I'd love to see something about Emma being hesitant to say the three big words**

 _She likes him._

She has for a while, Emma suspects. But her memories haven't even been back for a couple hours and she is already being forced to be the savior again. There's no time to think about it, yet her mind still does.

Sure, Hook's annoying and gets on her nerves, definitely makes too many innuendos and needs to control his eyebrows, but he's more than that. Supportive and kind are qualities of his too. Emma can't forget that Hook didn't back down until he found her in New York, didn't stop until she was back home with her parents. He cares for her.

Not so unexpectedly, Zelena comes to throw a monkey wrench in the works. And she takes that monkey part quite literally.

It is annoying that Emma liking Hook is apparently obvious. Regina likes to make comments, that she knows and sometimes her mother's looks seem a bit too understanding, but her feelings are out in the open for even the Wicked Witch to discover. To her, it always felt carefully concealed. Hidden under rolling eyes and behind the construction around her heart.

Pretending that she doesn't mind his lips are cursed is difficult, especially when the tingling sensation of their mouths pressed to each other in the Neverland dampness remains. Especially when Emma aches to feel it again. Maybe she should never have said that one time thing thing because she knows Hook is going to gloat when she breaks her own vow. It's inevitable. Because she likes him.

Emma has to rescue him, there's no other option. Words curse Zelena under her breath and damn her in thought. This isn't how it was supposed to go. Their lips meet again but for very different reasons than last time. It's not because she feels good and is slightly turned on; it's because otherwise she's going to lose him. Just like everyone else. Sacrificing her magic doesn't sound wrong when she's saving him instead.

…

As Emma lands with a hard smack in the forest, she has to hide her surprise when, only seconds later, Hook falls down too. It settles her. She's not alone. They could possibly fix this with the both of them. It's going to be alright. He's here.

They ruin things nevertheless and really ruin them. Her parents don't meet, how is she supposed to be born? Stress runs through her veins. They need to find a way to resolve this all.

Hook utters the words she never thought she would hear out of his mouth. Rumplestiltskin. His arch nemesis. Setting aside any grudge, any mention of revenge, he guides her to the castle. Clearly to defer the tension, he jokes about it but Emma can see the difficulty in his eyes. When Rumplestiltskin attempts to kill Hook, it doesn't make matters easier. Emma can convince the lizard like wizard; they want to leave as much as he wants them gone.

A swirl of magic and they become other people. New faces and new clothes. Admittedly, she's glad that Hook's face remains the same to her because it has become a security. The only thing Emma can count on.

His arm rests on her waist, his other leads her hand. Music fills the room and for one moment, however short it might be, they're simply attending and enjoying a ball. No ulterior motives, no trying to mend the future. The way Hook grins at her and compliments her dancing makes Emma's heart flutter out of her chest.

Not without effort or trouble they get back. Back to quaint little Storybrooke. Home. The talk in the vault revealed so much. Things she wasn't ready for, but Hook was there. Suddenly, life did not feel as scary.

He's sitting on a bench outside of Granny's. Little lights are hung up to make the night a bit more cozy. Her body drifts to him, to talk or simply be with him.

It starts with some teasing smiles and genuine curiosity until it suddenly becomes more. Emma's lips finally get rewarded with the softness of his against them. Hook's ship was gone because he wanted to find her and he is okay with that.

It's too soon surely. Too soon to acknowledge the stack of discarded bricks that keeps on growing or her walls that keep on shrinking. There's so much trust. She can trust him. How did that even happen?

The answer forms quickly; Hook has put her first over and over, he has protected her, her and her family. He forgot his bloodthirst for Gold because she was more important. It is kind of overwhelming. Knowing that there's someone who looks at Emma like she's everything. Everything he can wish for. Everything he loves.

 _She thinks she might love him._

She avoids him exactly for that reason. This is big. Needing some space to think, Emma asks him for time. Of course Hook gives her that. Pressuring her wouldn't help.

…

The ice is cold, so very cold. The shivers have stopped; her body starting to give up. But Hook doesn't. His voice was so laced with fear when he spoke over the walkie talkie that it made her own heart clench. Emma will not underestimate the strength of him and her father combined. They'll get her out of here.

Him calling out her name. That's the first thing she hears. His arms, that's the first thing she feels. They hold her, like they've never done before. Hugging him back, the anguish slowly evaporates from his tensed body and the warmth returns to hers. Hook picks her up, sensing the weakness that drenches her bones.

She's here and she's not going anywhere. Letting him near to her, hold her, hopefully reassures him. Their fingers find each other and intertwine. Several times, his eyes land on her and Emma's afraid to look up because she knows all too well what she'll see in them.

…

It takes courage to ask him out. Courage and a whole lot of ignoring the angsty voice in her mind. The voice is muted when, after getting over the shock, Hook eagerly agrees. A smile appears on her face as they fall back into their usual banter. He wants to plan the date and Emma lets him.

Getting ready for the evening is something new entirely. It's not one of her fake bail bonds dates where more flesh on display and a tighter dress would increase the chances of her catching the guy significantly. There's was no money to date when she was with Neal and Walsh, she wants to forget all together.

Emma's dress is soft and feminine, it's light. Like he makes her feel. Admitting how nervous she is, would be admitting how much this means to her. The door opens and it feels like her heart stops. A completely new wardrobe and such a radiating smile on his face. His hand gifts her a rose and the gesture takes all of her attention. Her mother needs to point out that the hook is gone. Emma doesn't really care.

The date goes perfectly, except for a small hiccup created by the thief. Finally, Emma gets to know him. For so long she thought he was just Hook but then Killian appears. He tells her stories and makes smart remarks. It's like nothing she felt before.

Smiling becomes easier with him, laughing too. Letting go is not scary anymore. When his lips brush hers, her racing mind calms down. The worries about the town and villains and her burdening role as a savior stop; there's only him.

…

Killian gets a look in her memory box; he's the first to get the honor. He already knows bits and pieces and Emma's letting him see more of those. After today, she needs comfort and he's probably the only one who can give her that.

…

Her magic was always something she could count on, a part of her that was so important and when Emma loses control, it feels like losing herself. Closing herself off is the only option to protect them. Those she loves, who don't have magic, the people she cannot lose.

Seeing the fear in her mother's eyes hurt her. Doubtlessly, not everyone is afraid of her. Emma knows Killian isn't. It's a dangerous thing his lack of fear. She can unintentionally hurt him, she already did so to her father. If Emma gets rid of the problem, everything will be solved.

Elsa teaches her one of the most valuable lessons of her life. One so simple but still difficult to execute.

Killian and she reunite. He's a fan of every part of her. They'll find a way together.

…

His behavior seems odd. Not completely like him. Emma asks him about it but Killian just dismisses her worries. She tries not to think anything of it. She can't even, the next crisis announces its presence.

There are tears when Emma says goodbye to Killian in the sheriff's station, something she usually carefully avoids but now she can't help it. The actual power of the curse is unknown. The duration of the curse is unknown. It may be some time until they return to each other as themselves.

After that, everything happens in a whirlwind. Gold has Killian's heart. Has had it for some time and plans to end Killian's life. Belle forces him to stop and let it go while Emma stands frozen watching the scene.

The green hall at Granny's is the place where Emma puts it back. The motion is fast, Emma wants his heart back where it belongs. Or maybe it does belong with her.

 _She loves him._

Maybe Emma is a bit late to catch on. The proof of that has been lying around for weeks. At least now she knows for sure.

They fall into a routine now that the town is void of any villains seeking havoc. They have lots and lots of quiet moments to talk or enjoy each other's company.

A look at his eyes and Emma sees what he's thinking. It appears to be a two way street this open book thing. There's a strange sense of being able to converse without any words. When her parents did, Emma always felt like an outsider. It is a rare thing, she thinks. One only people who love each other are entitled to.

The only thing she hopes Killian doesn't see is her anxiety. It has grown considerably the past few weeks. It's idiotic to worry about it but she still does. What if he says the words one day? What will her answer be? Emma can't imagine herself already sharing how she feels with him.

…

The literal words don't actually come but Killian paraphrases then. Emma is his happy ending. A tear escapes when Emma hears them. It's impossible to explain why. It could be the small part in her that never stopped doubting the reality of them.

…

Gold manages to change that reality. He manages to change their story. Unaware of where Killian is, where Henry is, Emma's shackled in a far away tower. Time doesn't function well here. It feels like years but it definitely can't be that long. Not when the memory of them is so fresh in her mind.

The door creaks open and in comes Henry, her own personal savior. Releasing her, her son speaks about everything he has witnessed. Emma hesitantly asks about Killian. Her shock is big when she is told that he's here, but not the same. It takes her eyes to see and believe the shy and awkward way he conducts himself. Killian's kinda cute, she has to confess.

The ambush they fall in is one her parents are behind and it surprises her to see the once kind, loving souls play villains. Emma can't beat them all, definitely not when Killian has no knowledge of sword fighting. Calling upon his brave side, he ignores that and covers her back. As Killian urges them to leave, Emma feels conflicted. Henry needs protection but she can't leave Killian behind either, it doesn't matter if it's an other version of him. Again, he tells her to go and she does. Grabbing ahold of Henry, they both turn to Killian. Her father's- no, this man isn't her father- rises and plunges into Killian's back.

Killian. He falls to the ground and it hurts as if she has been stabbed too. They have to go, they have to use the escape Killian has given them. The tears form in her eyes. He's gone. She didn't tell him.

When Emma sees him standing on the balcony of her room, unharmed, smiling and joking like he always does, Emma comes to a new conclusion.

 _She really loves him._

Losing him is not an option. He knows her like no one ever has. Emma likes to think the same goes for her. Being in his embrace, their breaths coming and going together, their hearts drumming with the same rhythm, makes Emma think this is the place she belongs.

It took so long to feel this way about Storybrooke, about her parents but somehow Killian makes it seem like a piece of cake. She should tell him. He's waiting on her, she knows. There have been uncountable moments where Emma could see the words on his lips before Killian swallowed them back in. When Emma says "there have been", she means every day.

…

The darkness, how ever vague it might be, swirls through town. Things have come to a zenith. But it doesn't feel like that. It seems this is a low. Regina isn't strong enough to handle the darkness but Emma is. It doesn't matter how much it hurts her, that's the harsh reality. She has to do this. What kind of savior would she be if she didn't?

Suddenly all of her worrying, all of her doubts feel idiotic. Of course she loves him. The steps she created for herself didn't actually exist. She didn't go from kinda in love to very in love. Emma has always been head over heels for Killian.

She loves him so much. Emma can't hide it anymore from him. It is Killian's right to know. A hundred- no a thousand. That's how many times she should have told him. Because that's how much he deserves to hear it. But she didn't and now there's no guarantee they'll have more time. Emma only has now.

"I love you."

 **It was such a challenge to get all of the events in the right order. I have to admit had to google nearly every episode. Just a casual reminder that I love getting reviews. You can do anything you'd like with that piece of information.**


	6. never before

**Das prompt: can you pleaseeee write a fic where something happens to Killian and he realizes how many people actually care about him?**

 **Since you asked so nicely ;) This is definitely a flangsty fic (fluff+angst is like my jam, that's why this is so long probably)**

The sun has found its way out of the winter shelter, the rays of light warm on Killian's body. It's far more pleasant to stroll around in the warmth than it is in the cold with only his leather jacket as protection.

Killian's steps are hastily taken and his pace is fast. The sense of punctuality the navy taught him remaining ingrained into his being, he is always on time but now it is going to be a close one. He completely lost track of time while working on the Jolly Roger and is making Emma wait on him at Granny's.

One day, it must be months ago now, Emma suggested a lunch date and he agreed, never being able to say no to more time with her. Without planning another one, the next day they found themselves coincidentally taking their midday breaks at the same cozy Granny's booth.

It's the same every noon. He shows up and she's waiting on him. Perpetual it may be, but it's a routine Killian never tires of.

Walking straight ahead to the diner, Killian deserts the docks behind him. It always feel a bit strange, like entering a new world. At the docks the air is fresh and smells of the salt of the sea. The seagulls flying over combined with the sloshing water make for that typical sound. Once he walks closer to town, it becomes a cacophony of car horns and rolling engines, of inhabitants chatting vividly as they promenade on the Storybrooke streets.

Still hurrying, Killian takes a left into Apple Lane and walks along the road. He has to traverse the road and then turn right to reach Granny's. The street is completely empty, there aren't any other pedestrians, so Killian sees no harm in simply hopping over to the other side instead of walking in the opposite direction to get to the crossroad. Looking left and right, as Emma taught him, to inspect if a car hasn't suddenly appeared, Killian leaves the sidewalk.

There's a faint sound in the distance, but he doesn't focus on that. It grows; the fizzing becomes roaring. Killian is just about to reach the white lines on the dark concrete, separating the two lanes, marking the halfway point. That's the moment he sees the car launching towards him. Its immense speed makes that what at first seemed far away becomes close in only milliseconds; far too little time for Killian to comprehend what's happening.

The big, black block of steel swerves from left to right, not giving Killian an option to get away. Why isn't the person driving slowing down? They should be slowing down. There is no time left to run, so Killian braces himself. Braces for the car to reach him, braces for the blow.

The two bodies, his and the car's, conflict. Unsurprisingly, the car is crowned victor as Killian hears the crunch of bones and flies over the hood. The car keeps on following its zigzagged path, creating more ravage to everything it comes across. When Killian's head hits the ground, his limbs lose all of their strength and the world becomes dark.

* * *

Killian stirs. As soon as he fully wakes up, the tremendous pounding in his head starts. There has to be someone with a considerably sized hammer hitting his skull, because it feels like cracking. To check if there's actually such a person, he opens his eyes.

When it's not some evil giant's face he sees, it is a bit disappointing at first because it means there's no stopping the throbbing in his head. The letdown doesn't last long, however, because Killian is welcomed back by Emma's worried face.

The room around him is bright, colored with a pristine and sanitary white. It's worse than the dark, so he closes his eyes again. Killian needs to show Emma he's alright. His throat feels incredibly dry, like that of a man wandering through the desert. Attempting to get rid of the drought, Killian swallows and wets his lips. Croaking, he forms some words.

"No handcuffs this time?" he jokes.

The whole setting feels like a flashback. Him in a hospital bed, bruised and battered with Emma leaning over him like some angelic being. Killian peaks through his half opened right eye and sees Emma smiling.

"No, but if you try anything, I'll be sure to use them, so no funny business."

Killian attempts to laugh but the shaking causes too much pain to his mutilated body.

"What happened?"

His memories are hazy and obscure. He can't remember what occurred to him and forced him back into the hospital's confinement.

"You got hit by a car," Emma clarifies. "I have no clue who thought it was a good idea to give Sleepy a driver's license, but he fell asleep at the wheel and lost control of the car."

Killian knows Emma, knows when something is amiss, knows when she's creating a façade of braveness instead of revealing her pain. He lets the light back in and looks at her. She has been crying. The area around her eyes still bears a faded red. For a second, his own pain is forgotten as he focuses on her.

"Are you alright, Swan?" he inquires.

"I'm fine. It's just- You really worried me, Killian Jones. You're not supposed to get hit by a car!"

The words have an air of reproach, but Killian suspects that has something to do with their recent past. It was a turbulent time, back when Emma had to come and save him out of the Underworld after he sacrificed himself. They had said goodbye so many times, every time thinking it was final.

In the end, they were granted an amazing opportunity. One for a life together, to grow old, to be with each other. Getting that gift again seems very unlikely. Emma is upset she had almost lost him again and that would mean it was all for nothing.

"Swan, I hardly think it's my fault the dwarf suffers from narcolepsy," Killian tries to lighten the mood.

The current situation doesn't leave much room for humor and, in an act of atonement, Emma grabs ahold of his hand.

"Of course it's not." Her fingers squeeze lightly. "It's such a relief that you're alright."

"I'm a survivor, remember?" Killian points out.

The sound that comes out of Emma is a mixture of a laugh and a sob. It's true that death and Killian don't have the best history but he's here and he has no plans to exit any time soon.

His gaze falls on the window on the left side of the room. The white shutters are closed, shielding them from the outside . The light of the day was still reigning when the accident happened.

"How long have I been unconscious?"

"Around six hours," Emma answers without a missing a beat.

Emma cannot have been waiting for six hours in an uncomfortable hospital chair, sitting next to his immobile body.

"Have you been here all that time?" Killian questions.

It seems that his doubt has stirred up disbelief of her own because Emma's face knots itself into a frown.

"I wasn't going to abandon you, Killian. What if you woke up?"

There's no response Killian can think of. He shouldn't have doubted her. Of course Emma sat by his side and waited, it's what he would have done if it was her lying in the horrendous hospital bed.

The beeping and buzzing of the machines he is attached to prevents the silence from taking over. Emma speaks again.

"Whale told me to come and get him when you were awake, so I'm quickly going to do that. You'll be alright?"

Waiting on him to reassure her, Emma stands up from the blue chair, but her hand lingers in Killian's touch.

"Definitely. Go and get the doctor." he replies.

Emma turns away from his bed and the instant she does, Killian misses her presence.

"Swan?" he manages to call.

His throat really aches and he's fighting against sleep but it has been too long since the phrase has been uttered. Emma's hair swishes as she quickly turns her head.

"Yeah?"

She's amazing, his Swan.

"I love you."

Emma smiles as a response. She exhales and Killian sees the small bit of relief on her face. Everything is going to be fine. Four fast strides take Emma back to his side.

"I love you, too." The ends of her locks tickle his shoulders as her face hovers over him. Softly, Emma places her delicate lips on his. Killian doesn't have the energy to kiss her back like he normally does and lets her abandon the embrace to go find Whale.

Seeking to stay awake, Killian thoroughly sweeps the room. The first thing he notices, because how can he not, is his leg hanging in the air. A contraption coming out of the ceiling keeps it high and there's a white mold around it. The collision must have broken his foot or leg. His eyes stay on the white until it starts to blur. Before he knows it, Killian's drowsiness forces his eyelids shut another time.

A soft nudge to his shoulder makes him awake again. Emma is sitting next to him, Dr. Whale is standing at the end of his bed, white jacket matching the room on his shoulders and metal clipboard in hand.

"Alright, Hook," he starts. "The accident caused a concussion. I suppose you're experiencing headaches."

The doctor glances over to him and Killian agrees with a shake of the head in reply. Taking the pen out of his coat, Whale writes the answer down on the paper stuck on the other side.

"I'll give you some painkillers to diminish the pain. As you can see, you have a broken leg as well." The blue pen points at the white cast. "It's a clean fracture, so it shouldn't take more than six weeks in the cast to heal," Whale says, tilting his hand to show that he means approximately.

"How long does he have to stay here?" Emma asks.

"He can stay but he can go home too. It's up to you both."

As Killian turns his head to her, Emma does the same exact thing. Their irises find each other. It's a dance they have perfected, silently conversing and reading each other. In situations like this one, it always proves to be a blessing. Killian reveals his preference to her and is happy when he sees Emma agree.

"We're going home," she determinedly tells the blond haired doctor.

"That's fine." He gives Emma directions. "You'll just have to wake him every two hours and ask him some basic questions." Whale then addresses Killian. "You can't read or watch TV. Nothing active for the next few days, but that will be manageable seeing that you're stuck with that." He motions towards the leg levitating in the air. "Lastly, no alcohol for at least a week."

Whale puts extra emphasis on that and Killian immediately understands why. His reputation of being a one handed pirate with a drinking problem remains.

It is true that alcohol was once his daily companion, the remedy for his sorrow and the improvement of his joy. But things have changed. What Whale doesn't know is that Killian has emptied out his flask and replaced the rich rum with bland water. The only times he still drinks are with Emma in the warmth of their home or in the animated atmosphere of Granny's. And that is more than enough.

"Thanks, Victor." Emma says, her voice carrying a tinge of annoyance regarding his last comment.

Whale chooses to ignore that and puts a professional smile on his face.

"You're welcome, Emma. Call if he's not responding correctly or if the headaches become worse."

"Will do." Emma nods her head.

"I'll send a nurse with a wheelchair. Hope you have a good recovery, Hook."

"Thank you, Whale." It still sounds a bit barked but his voice is definitely improving. In contrary to the drilling in his head.

Emma's hand caresses his forehead and Killian knows it's impossible but it feels like his head hurts a little less. Or maybe it isn't, Emma having the powers she has.

"We'll be home before you know it." she tells him softly, keeping in account the headaches. Killian hums in contention. Home.

…

Emma keeps her promise to Whale and wakes him up after two hours. It's quite irritating because it feels like she wakes him after mere minutes of sleep. Every time Emma forcefully pulls him out of dreams, she gives him an apologetic smile which makes Killian forgive her on the spot. Rattling off a list of questions concerning their lives and location, she checks if Killian is still alright.

"Where are you?" Emma starts.

Killian can't help but sigh. This is the third time they've done this.

"Storybrooke," he answers

Emma gives him a sound of approval.

"Who am I?" she then asks, adding some variation to the mix of questions.

Killian smiles. Who is she? So many things. An amazing woman for one, his own personal savior as well. He eventually settles on "My true love."

The room is lightless, but he can still see the roll of her eyes.

"What's my name, Killian?"

Her tone pleads for him to cooperate.

"Swan," he then answers, a small grin gracing his lips.

Emma is clearly not content with that reply because she carefully picks a place without blue discolorations on his chest and softly swats her hand against it.

That's unfair. Swan _is_ her name.

"Bloody hell," Killian says exaggeratedly. "Emma." His hands go up to call for a truce. "Hurting invalids is bad form, Swan."

It doesn't make her smile like it usually does, but the lines of anguish and exhaustion dwell nonetheless.

"Okay, you're clearly pretty lucid. Let's go back to sleep," her tired intonation suggests.

"Let's."

He wants to grab ahold of her and let her fall asleep in the warmth of his body, but he can't. Not when the cast hinders his movements and when his entire body aches; he can't even find the power to shuffle closer to her.

"I'm sorry, Swan," he says after seconds or maybe it has been minutes since she tucked herself in.

Killian would go for the latter because her answer sounds sleepy.

"For what?"

Her face is turned away from him.

"Nearly getting myself killed again," Killian admits.

"I forgive you." The sound of her voice is muffled by the pillow her head is buried in. Emma takes a deep breath. "Just, please don't do it again. I love you too much to lose you."

Her inhales and exhales follow a steady rhythm after she stops speaking. Emma's back asleep, it doesn't stop Killian from saying I love you back.

…

As things go in a small town like Storybrooke, the entire town has heard about his accident by morning. Killian is surprised it took them that long.

Emma receives a phonecall from her parents asking if they could come over. Leaving the decision up to Killian, Emma asks him for his opinion and he can't see any reason to oppose. They make plans for a calm dinner.

Emma tells him how they had called twice yesterday and Killian repeats the words in his head to make sure he heard them right.

"I had to convince them to wait until today because they were about ready to barge in here to see if you were really alright," she says with a smile on her face.

Killian carefully shifts his weight as Emma supports him getting off of the stairs. The screaming voices in his head have lowered and now only some pressure remains.

"My Dad took over my shift today and yesterday," Emma continues. "So I could stay home with you."

"How come I don't know any of this?" Killian asks once his body sinks into the soft material of their couch.

Chuckling, Emma moves some pillows around to create a comfortable nook for him.

"You were unconscious like 90% of the time."

A good argument.

Killian feels the muscles in his abdomen clench in preparation for a shout for food by his stomach; he's hungry.

"Swan, could I have something to eat? I'm famished."

"Sure, I'll go get you something." Emma walks away in direction of the kitchen.

The low rumbling rattles his insides, but Emma brings his rescue in the form of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Henry introduced him to the combination and it has grown on Killian.

"I bring food and a teenager," Emma says, confusing Killian at first.

But then he sees Henry coming around the couch with a relieved expression.

"I'm so happy you're okay!" the boy exclaims, his arms finding their way around Killian's body.

"Hey lad," Killian welcomes him.

As much as he can, he pats Henry on his shoulder. Henry gets rid of the backpack hanging from his shoulder and dumps it on the ground as he jumps in the couch, next to Killian.

"The white doesn't really match the rest of your clothes," Henry comments.

"I know. I told your mother that as well."

Henry's face turns pensive for a moment before it gets a light smile. Killian identifies the look; Henry has an idea.

The dark backpack is lifted off of the ground by Henry and he opens it to reveal the contents. His school supplies, the big, golden lettered book he still carries everywhere and other things hidden at the bottom. Henry's hand rummages through the contents and reveals a black marker. A raised eyebrow and a suggesting smile ask Killian for permission and he agrees with a nod.

Settling on the hardwood floor, Henry uncaps the pen and draws a first black line on the white plaster. After trying to follow Henry's movements, but starting to feel the strain in his body, Killian eventually lies back and slowly chews on his sandwich.

"Done!" Henry shouts while leaving the uncomfortable ground and trading it in for the much softer couch. "Now you don't have to miss the Jolly as much."

Killian stretches his neck and recognizes the outline. The boy has used both the dark and light to create an image of his ship, an image very true to the real version bobbing in the harbor. It seems that Henry doesn't only have a knack for writing, but is a very apt illustrator as well.

"That is amazing, Henry."

"Thanks," he says. "If you want, I could go and check on her from time to time, until you can do it yourself, of course."

The pride in Killian surges. He can't pin an exact reason as to why; is it the words or how he delivers them? It's both, it's everything. He simply feels so proud of Henry and the man he is becoming.

"Perfect. What would a captain do without his first mate?" Killian questions, his elbow lightly nudging Henry.

Even though Killian must have called him that a thousand times, Henry beams with the assignment of the name. Killian couldn't even wish for a better right, or should he say left, hand. Henry is smart and is willing to work hard and wants to learn. They spent countless hours aboard studying how the Jolly Roger works and what she requires; every detail is important down to the knots in the rope and the tidiness of the deck.

Henry expressed an interest in learning how to properly sword fight and Killian offered him lessons immediately. When their sticks clash, their faces concentrated with a sporadic battle cry escaping, that's the moment that he feels closest to Henry

"We'll have to put the sword fighting lessons on hold for a while." It's reluctantly said. The spars Henry and he had were the perfect time to bond and had become a fun little thing between them. "Keep practicing, aye?"

"Yeah, don't worry," Henry reassures him.

They keep on talking about battle strategies and ships and only briefly halt their conversation when Emma says she's going to do some grocery shopping. And when those topics run dry, they start another one.

Henry stands up to grab some paper and takes the black pen again when he returns.

"I don't know if you're ready for Interstellar yet, but it's an incredible movie, so I'll write it down anyway."

Coasting along the sheet, Henry's hand fills the empty space with his cursive. As Henry thinks of other additions to the never ending list, Killian promises the boy that once Whale clears him, he'll continue his venture into this world's entertainment.

By the time Emma returns, her parents have joined her and Henry has left him. The instant Snow and David set foot in the grey house, they both hurriedly walk over to Killian.

Snow reaches him first and places her two hands on both sides of his face. It's an remarkably affectionate gesture, one Killian only has seen shared between Snow and Emma or Emma and Henry.

"Thank God you are okay."

Snow's green eyes are right in front of his and Killian honestly doesn't know how to respond with her being so close to him. He, almost shyly, looks into her eyes and takes note of the resemblance between this pair and Emma's.

"We're so glad your injuries aren't any worse," Snow continues. "Emma's phone call scared me, Killian." Her elevated eyebrows confirm her statement. Snow's palms leave his cheeks as she straightens her back and takes a step back.

"I got the call in the sheriff's station and believe me, that isn't pleasant either," David chips in. "Good to see you back awake."

The sudden show of concern affects Killian; it makes an odd feeling lodge in his throat and he's afraid when he opens his mouth, the unfamiliar thing might escape. Killian keeps it shut and turns the corners of his lips upwards.

Chasing the sounds of Emma preparing dinner in the kitchen, Snow removes herself from the living room and goes to join her daughter.

David, not wanting to keep on standing, sits down in the couch.

"I'm sorry, David," Killian says when he feels secure enough.

David creases his blond brows and looks up at him.

"For what?" he asks, the confusion soaking his words.

"Giving you extra work with the accident and now that Emma's staying with me."

Before, Killian didn't think of that, but this morning, Emma made the comment about the shifts. Mere seconds ago, David made the comment about receiving the call at the station.

Dave has been working overtime. Not only that, he now has extra work because of the accident taking place. A man with a small child and wife at home is spending nearly all of his time away from his family and the only reason for that is that Killian was so stupid to get hit by a car.

"Killian, that really doesn't matter right now." David gives a friendly pat on his shoulder. "I'm happy to help out. Plus, it wasn't your fault, so don't feel bad about it."

David can say that several times, but it won't actually banish the guilt Killian is experiencing.

…

"Killian," Emma's voice whispers in the early morning light. "I'm going to work. You want me to help you to the couch?"

Killian wishes he didn't need Emma's assistance, wishes she could go to work without worrying about him, but that isn't the reality. The voyage between the couch and their bedroom has a treacherous pair of stairs in it and with a cast that makes him wobble like a toddler, it's quite frankly dangerous to even attempt those. Hence, Killian lets her guide him to the holy sofa.

"Here's your wheelchair so you can move around." Emma rolls the chair and parks it near to him. "I'm going to leave the front door open if that's good for you. My mother said she might come by today and I don't want you to strain yourself while trying to quickly reach the door." She flicks her hair back and pulls her jacket straight.

"That's fine."

Emma squats, placing her hand on his thigh.

"If you need _anything_ , call, alright?" Killian nods. Emma's lips brush over his. "Love you and I'll see you tonight."

"Love you too, Swan," Killian replies, pulling the blanket over his body and closing his eyes to reprise his sleep.

…

There's not much besides sleeping a man in a plaster with a prohibition on intense usage of his eyes can do, but Killian can listen to music.

Just like Henry provided him with a list of movies, he has also done that with music Killian should hear. It's a collection of weird names (he can't say he's seen an Arctic monkey before), but interesting nevertheless. The song list increased when Emma found it and decided that music not made in this decade qualifies as must hear too. This is a great way to fill his time. Some songs Killian particularly likes; the melody appealing to his ears and person; those get the honor of a star drawn next to them.

The music plays relatively low, so it doesn't ensconce the light knock on the front door. That must be Emma's mother.

"Come in," he yells.

It's not the short, black pixie cut that pops up from behind the door but long, chestnut hair. Belle smiles at him and Killian smiles back.

"I wasn't expecting you." The tone is one of a pleasant surprise.

Belle walks in, the heels of her shoes make a tapping sound on the ground. In her hand, she holds her characteristic book.

"I know, but I brought a book," she says in her typical speech and while lifting said book.

"Thank you, Belle. That's very kind of you. I can't read yet, however." Killian grimaces. "Doctor's orders."

Belle hums in thought as she takes a seat next to him.

"Do you want me to read a bit to you?" With her suggestion, she tilts her head, a sweet smile on her lips.

"You don't have to do that."

There's no need for Belle to waste her time while reading to him. Keeping open a library all by yourself is hard work, doing it while you're heavily pregnant is even a tougher task, there are certainly better things she can do right now.

"But I want to, Killian," Belle insists. "It must be boring sitting here doing nothing."

Killian understands that Belle isn't about to leave before he accepts her proposition and ultimately he does.

"He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish," she reads.

The hand that's not holding the book unconsciously rubs circular motions over her round belly. Killian finds himself attentively listening to every word. A story, a new world with an entire set of new characters appears to be a great way to pass his time.

Belle has to leave to tend to the library after reading around twelve pages of the book. She tries to carefully hug him which leads to a short laughing spree because of the awkwardness that follows. A promise to return the next day to continue the reading session is made and Belle lets herself out of the house. Killian happily exhales. Belle is a brilliant friend.

…

The clock strikes twelve and on a normal day he would be on his walk to Granny's right now. Sadly, Killian won't see Emma until this evening. The boredom that surrounds him evokes a longing for her to be here. Her eyes sparkled with love, her laugh filled with amusement, her hair soft under his touch. She said to call if he needed anything but all he needs is her.

Before, he used to thrive on autonomy, not needing anyone to survive. Years in Neverland were spent that way. His crew kept him company but the captain could function without them trailing behind him. Be that as it may, Emma and he are a team, a well oiled machine that needs the both of them to operate; one part disappears and the wheel stops turning.

Killian would never consider his love for Emma to be a weakness but it would be a hindrance to her in situations like these. If he presses the Emma button, she wouldn't waste a minute to get back home and that's exactly what she shouldn't do.

Emma is strong and independent, working to protect and lead the entire town, he should not bother her with his problems. Even if he calls, there's not more to say than "I miss you."

The man and his large hammer return to his head and it consequently starts to hurt again. His stomach feels enough sated after the big breakfast Killian spoiled it with, so he decides to take another nap.

The sleep acts as an anesthetic, eliminating the pain he sensed and dulling the need for Emma. His mood ameliorates after he wakes.

A determined knock on the door claims his attention and Killian shouts a welcome to the person behind the door.

Again, he is surprised when it's not Snow but another Storybrooke resident, one of the most important ones. The town's favorite matron is entering through his door, a grin playing on her lips.

"Hello, Granny," Killian says.

Her grey curls are messy and there are trickles of sweat on her forehead. Her breathing is faster than usual. Did she run here?

"Hey, hot shot," Granny greets him. "I don't have a lot of time, it being the middle of the lunch flow, but I thought you could use a good burger and fries right now." She sets the white bag branded with her namesake on the table in front of Killian. "On the house."

Killian can't figure out why Granny came all the way out here to deliver him lunch, but it's a very welcome gesture.

"Thank you, lady Lucas," he shows his appreciation.

"You are welcome, Captain."

After saying that, Granny departs again, shortening her visit to get back to her diner. As the door slams shut, Killian stares at the bag of food, deep in thought. Did Granny notice his absence and asked Emma about it? Or did the rumors about the accident already circulate in the diner?

Either case creates a dilemma that Killian can't comprehend. There's no logical explanation to explain what just occurred. His shoulder move to shrug it off and Killian carefully unwraps the meal. The aromas of nice and greasy food escape the second he does and find their way to his nostril. He is going to savor this.

…

Using every last remnant of strength he has, Killian moves his body off the couch and into the wheelchair. It's been too long since his lungs have felt fresh air, so he rolls to the back of the house, opens the glass door and smiles when their back yard basks in sun. The flowers they planted are now flourishing; their stems have grown long and their petals are bright. The grass is green with a small discolored patch where their table once stood.

"Hook?" A voice searches for him.

"Right here," he answers to help them locate him.

Moving around with a wheelchair is difficult anyway, but with a hook replacing one of your hands, it proves to complicate things. Going forward and quickly returning back, Killian does his best to turn towards the visitor.

None of his guest were foreseen and all of them managed to baffle him, but when Regina joins him outside with Sleepy tagging along, Killian is left perplexed.

"Regina."

No response from the mayor but she pushes the short man and he stumbles towards Killian.

"Go on," Regina says with a commanding voice. "Say what you need to say."

The dwarf looks afraid, his eyes searching for the nearest exit. Killian understands, the queen and he aren't the most warm and forgiving people around.

"Um… S- Sorry, Hook… for running you over. It wasn't my intention." His fear is verbalized too. "I'll do anything to make it up to you, just please don't hurt me." Sleepy falls on his knees and intertwines his hands as he begs.

"Alright, that's enough, dwarf," Regina barks, ending the scene. "Leave, now."

He stands back up and runs to the front door, nearly tripping as he scurries to get away from them.

Sometimes it isn't so bad to have a reputation.

Regina sits down on one of the garden chairs; her brightly colored lips form a smirk.

They aren't friends. At least that's what Killian thought. Most of the time they spend together, Regina makes some sort of derogatory comment, Killian picks a comeback out of his own wide array of sarcasm, they bicker, disagree on nearly every occasion, but she's still sitting here, in his backyard, after making the man that put him in this position apologize. Maybe Killian should reconsider.

"How are you?" she asks.

"Good." Killian shrugs. "Considering I got run over by a car."

Regina arches one of her perfectly kept eyebrows.

"I don't know how you keep on doing it, pirate, but it's good you only got a broken leg. I personally promise to revoke the dwarfs license."

Killian looks up at her. He is aware that Regina doesn't take promises lightly, and the way she tells him, the determination that characterizes her tone and the stroke of anger, shows that she means it. It shows that Regina cares for him. Perhaps they are friends. Friends with a unique and strange dynamic, but friends nevertheless.

"Oh, I should go." Regina checks her watch. "Zelena is bringing Robin by," she explains. "Take care, Hook."

"Thanks for stopping by, Regina."

Killian wants to escort her back to the front door, but putting a hand on his shoulder, she stops him.

"Don't mention it," she says, waving her hand in a minimizing gesture. Another motions elicits a cloud of smoke, purple and full of magic; Regina is gone when it clears.

…

The day is pulling away, leaving room for the night to come and take over control. Killian is forced to retreat inside as the rain clouds fill the dimmed sky and the water drops play create their own song as they hit the ground.

The inside of the house is dominated by the shadows and Killian attempts to drown them out with the light the lamps provide. Every second that passes, is one moment closer to Emma's return.

There's someone standing in the living room, Killian notices. The sudden appearance of another soul in the house startles him. Studying the silhouette, its features betray that it's a woman. She's not tall, petite being a good word to describe her.

The light that usually illuminates the living room is placed quite high; it's hard to reach from his wheelchair and Killian prepares himself to stand up and flick the switch to unmask the intruder.

"Let me take care of that."

A light that all of a sudden starts to shine has become less frightening after living with the savior for quite some time.

The woman is fair haired, the same shade of blonde that Emma has. But it isn't Emma. Emma doesn't wear her hair like that, nor does she dress in complete green. Instead, Tink stands there. Killian can't believe his eyes.

"Hello, Hook."

"Tinker Bell," he says back, looking for something to say, scrambling together words. "It's been awhile."

How long has it been since Killian has seen her? A year? No, more, definitely more.

"I know."

"Where have you been?"

The question carries a touch of hurt. Tink vanished into thin air without any notice, no goodbye or place she was going. They might have had a past together and have had their disputes, but Killian considered her a friend. Someone who understood him. Last he had heard, she was here in Storybrooke, but how come Killian didn't see her? Storybrooke isn't that large.

"Here and there." Her answer is evasive and annoys Killian. "But when I heard you got hurt," she continues. "I needed to come."

The tentative smile on her face acknowledges something. Her absence or her mistake of not contacting anyone.

"You are very resilient for a three hundred year pirate." she jokes.

"You are very secretive for an at least as old fairy." Killian retorts back.

Tink lets her head down, sighing with defeat. It's a sad sight and it makes Killian think. She's here for him, broke her camouflage to check up on him. He can't hold anything against her.

"I'm sorry, Tink," he apologizes. "Do you want to sit down?"

Relief imbeds itself into her expression as she nods.

They have a lot to catch up, the events since their parting enough to fill three lifetimes. Tink maintains the reservedness about her own life, but Killian respects it. It's an enigma; the reason why she keeps it, but it isn't his place to try and solve it. The only thing he is allowed, is to be happy his friend is back.

Emma is bound to arrive any time, Killian thinks when he sees the clock ticking away.

"Do you want to stay for dinner? I'm sure Emma would love to see you too."

Tink shakes her head, the loose locks that have fallen out of her bun following the movement.

"I'd better go," Tink declines.

"Are you coming back anytime soon?" he asks. The answer is quite clear but yet, he asks.

"We'll see." Her green shoulders rise. Don't worry about me," she says when Killian's face creases with concern. "I'll be fine. You did great, Hook. I'm proud of you."

…

The reunion with Tink haunts his thoughts and her words reverberate. The questions flood his mind. Where is she going to go? Will she actually be okay? What did she mean with the last thing she said?

Killian has to drain the questions, he shouldn't worry. Knowing Tink, she will survive. Neverland has taught her a lot; he has learned valuable lessons as well. Tinker Belle is a fairy, she's far smarter than he is.

"Killian?"

The only person he has expected here throughout the entire day , finally arrives. Discarding her jacket and shoes, she walks to him with her brightly colored socks.

"Someone looks like he had a busy day today," she comments.

"Tell me about it, Swan."

Emma settles next to him in the couch, leaving no space between their two bodies.

"Did my mom visit?"

Killian shakes his head and tells Emma about all of the people that did visit him today. He tells about Belle and her book, Granny starting a food delivery, Regina bringing the dwarf to apologize and ends with Tink's surprise appearance.

"A busy day, indeed. Wow. And I was thinking you'd get lonely today." Emma sniggers.

Killian can't share her amusement.

"I feel bad." Emma frowns and silently requests an explanation. Killian rubs his hand over his face and sighs. "They all paused their lives for me, because I'm stuck here. They put effort in things for me; your father works overtime, Granny prepares me food and brings it herself. They shouldn't. It isn't worth it."

He's not worth it.

Emma moves out of his embrace.

"Would you stop it, already?" she says, ending Killian's words. "Things happen and when they do, family is here to help." His breath hitches as she uses the words and Emma notices because she grabs his chin and turns his head towards her, forcing their eyes to look at each other. "Because that's what they are. Family. My parents, Henry. Belle is a part of that too, so is Granny. Of course Regina as well. _Your_ family."

Liam was his family. But then he died and the notion of ever having a family again was deemed impossible. With Milah, piece of it returned but that little part was shattered again.

"It's been awhile since I've had one, Swan," Killian admits. "And this much family is something I've never had before."

"I know the feeling. But, hey. Look at us. We have a family. An amazing family." Her thumb moves over the surface of his face, tracing every dip and rise on it. "Soon, we are going to extend that family and it's going to become even more amazing."

Killian immediately understands what his Swan is telling him. Children. Emma is talking about wanting children with him. Above all of the emotions that have inhabited his body, complete happiness settles. Killian feels his eyes become wet. He doesn't weep a lot, reserves the rawness and vulnerability for the right time.

Losing Milah, losing Liam, losing Emma.

For the first time in hundreds of years, it's because of what Killian has gained. A family to call his own. Perhaps one day children of his own.

Today is a reminder. There are people who care for him, who want him here, who visit him when he's hurt. Friends and family.

"I love you." Emma's eyes have a watery edge to them as well. "They all love you. Don't ever forget that."

"I love you too, Swan. So bloody much."

Zeus, the great and almighty God, once gave him a second chance at life, a new start. No gift would ever be greater.

But Emma Swan… she has shone on his previously dark life. She has given him a family. A purpose for his life. That tops it all.


	7. cold feet & warm hearts

**Le prompt:** **Ik it's been a rly long time but could you write something about 4x02 and the ice cave scene with CS**

Killian had been worried. He had been worried every second. Somehow it always happened so fast. Everything was alright one minute; their smiles teasing and tone flirty. And then suddenly Emma was on the verge of dying, her body shutting down because of the frost and he wasn't able to reach her.

Killian wanted to believe that the ice lady had no malevolent intentions, that she was simply scared and that her powers were spiraling out of control, but with Emma's life at stake, there were no risks to be taken.

They ran across town, from the border to the crocodile's shop, from the shop to the butcher's. There was no time to catch their breath when time was of the essence. So they ran. For Emma. To save her because nor Killian, nor David was not about to lose someone so important to them.

It seemed a feeble plan; a magic shepherd's crook to locate Elsa's sister to trigger her ice melting magic and free Emma. What else could they do, however?

The seconds after David delivered the message seemed to take longer than all of his centuries combined.

It started with a sound, a whisper of wind finding his ears, then the tingling followed, like a glass that shattered. The snowflakes stormed around, creating a vortex that eroded the block of ice separating Emma and him. Killian ducked, peering through the growing hole looking for her face. Her name escaped from his lips as he saw her struggling towards them.

Killian grabbed her, immediately pulled her into his arms. It was a selfish act considering that Emma's father was standing besides him, but in that moment he needed to be sure she was alright; only her heart beating fiercely in her chest could do that, only her breath on his skin, only her slightly chilled arms around him. When Emma nodded to answer his question, the relief befell to calm him down. Emma was here and she was all right.

David had said something about getting her home right before Killian felt Emma's embrace, so Killian lifted her off her weak legs, slowly taking steps away from the slippery and cold wall. He carried her towards the car and sat besides her on the way back to the loft. She nuzzled into his warmth and made Killian smile.

It surprised him when she let him hold her in the presence of her family, when she braided their hands together to get even closer to him. The events of today must have influenced Emma as well. Even though Killian couldn't actually see the walls protecting her, he sensed that they had lowered; their height being lessened and the materials of the stones being softened.

Emma was still shivering, her teeth softly clattering; Killian came a bit closer and rubbed his hand over her back. Three blankets surrounded her and the heater was blowing warm air towards them. Emma's mother walked in, face confused about the newcomer in their house. David explained it, giving some speech about family and hope. Killian couldn't seem to pay attention, not when Emma was here, in his arms. His eyes could only focus on her.

When was the last time he had held someone? Truly held someone? Without that familiar drunken haze. Without the lust chasing them, but with only love lingering around.

It was an easy answer. A long time ago.

Milah.

Since her death, since she was taken from him no one had held the fearsome Captain Hook like Emma was cuddling him now.

It was an amazing feeling. A feeling that finally had found its way back to Killian. Holding the woman you love was like returning to a place you hadn't been for ages. But it still looked the same and you could swear that the scent had not changed. The atmosphere of it all was identical and so was the emotion accompanying it.

Holding the woman that you love was like returning home and to finally be at peace. Killian was sure of it; he was not giving this feeling up, not for the next century or two.


	8. lucky me

**El prompt: Please could you write something where emma and Killian are fighting villains and Emma sees killian fighting and is like oh holy damn my man is hot**

Sometimes Emma is sick of her life as savior/sheriff. In the three and a half years she has lived here, the town has been sieged by a million villains and maybe that's a bit exaggerated but it definitely feels like that.

There was the Evil Queen, then Cora, Greg & Tamara, Peter Pan tried to take over too, Zelena, several times; the Snow Queen, Ursula, Cruella, Maleficent, Dark Swan (but that doesn't really count because she didn't have to fight herself), Dark Hook, Hades, Mr. Hyde, the Evil Queen again. And not to forget the immense amount of attempts Gold has made to screw them over.

Emma deserves a break, she really does. But here they are, in the middle of a fight against Jafar (yeah, that dude out of Aladdin). Who would be next, she wonders. Is the voodoo Doctor out of Princess and the Frog going to cast a spell over town or maybe Scar wants to take over Storybrooke to turn into his own kingdom. It would not be the least bit surprising.

* * *

"Emma!"

In one hurried motion, Emma turns her head to her father. He sounds distressed and his face shows every feature she would use to describe a look of bad news.

"We need to go. Jafar was sighted near the town border."

So she leaves her half drunk cup of hot cocoa, abandons the temporary peace at Granny's to return and embrace the chaos. The sigh that Emma lets out betrays with how much reluctance she is doing this.

"The others?" she inquires, following her father's hurried steps out of the diner and into the fresh outside air.

"Regina was going to poof to the line, Hook was at the docks but he's coming," David replies.

"Good."

The car keys jingle as Emma throws them over the hood and they land in David's hands. Synchronically they settle into the car and David awakens the engine by swiftly inserting the key and turning it. The blaring sound of the siren creates a pathway between the traffic on Main Street, forcing the cars to move sideways and grant them passage. With the gas pedal completely being smothered by David's black leather boot, they race towards the picturesque "Leaving Storybrooke." sign that resides at the border.

Why do villains always pick the outskirts of town to attack? Town entrapments and sketchy spells have become reoccurring thing and it makes Emma wish bad guys aren't as predictable. Can't they find original ways to invade town instead of copying the old. It does make her job easier but truthfully far less entertaining.

A shriek made by the car's braking tires announces their arrival at the place of uproar. And uproar it is. Jafar stands with his back towards Emma and her father, a red glow escaping out of the staff he holds. Around him half a dozen men protect him, all clothed in outfits that Emma supposes are honoring Agrabah's dress code but don't go unnoticed here, nevertheless.

Darting her eyes towards David, Emma tries to think of a good approach and sees the same look of contemplation on his face.

"What do we do?" Emma whispers, trying to avoid to raise attention.

David shrugs.

"We can't do anything before the rest gets here."

"Don't worry about that." The new voice startles the both of them as they see Regina suddenly standing next to them. "I'm here. We can take the psychopath." Regina says, her hand motioning between Emma and her.

"We have to wait until Killian arrives," Emma says. "David can't take the guards by himself and we'll be too busy fighting Jafar."

"And where exactly is the pirate?" Regina's dark brows furrow with impatience.

"On his way."

Jafar and his guards continue undisturbed and the veil of magic enlarges its territory. They really can't do anything with only the three of them; they would be outnumbered by at least three. It's difficult to remain immobile when Emma can feel the magic, feel it grow and become more dangerous by the second, threatening town and its inhabitants. But the time they spend waiting gives them an opportunity to come up with a solid plan, one that would guarantee the defeat of the powerful wizard.

The plan resembles the one they always use; Emma and Regina use magic, David and Killian fight with whatever is on disposal. However, it's more about the details. From what side will they attack, who initiates the ambush, is their main goal to take out Jafar or to stop the spell he's casting? The answers can make or break this.

"Well someone took his time," Regina comments as Killian runs towards them.

"Well someone does not own a car nor possesses magical powers to get him everywhere." Killian rolls his eyes towards her. Glancing over to Emma, his face softens and winks. Which fails miserably but is about the most adorable thing Emma has ever seen.

He looks good. He always does. It has only been hours ago since she saw him last, but his presence quiets the deprivation that tends to haunt Emma when they are apart. Ever since the Underworld and the emotional roller coaster they went through, parting from him has become more difficult. What Emma wouldn't give for a life spent in bed, cuddling and kissing and watching Netflix, away from harm and danger.

Killian clearly tried to get here as fast as possible; the effort he took makes the intakes of air succeed quickly and colors his cheeks in a small flush. The desire to kiss him, even chastely and completely innocent, travels through Emma. Her head softly shakes to liberate herself from it; this is not the time to think of this, she should concentrate on their mission. Killian's lips could wait.

They let Killian catch up, let him process the information of the battle plan for a second until he nods his head confidently as a sign of preparedness.

"Alright, let's end this once and for all," Emma tells them, taking deep breaths to summon the buzz of magic.

"We will, Swan." Killian approaches her, his voice low to ensure the privacy of their conversation. "You can do this."

It's not that they are discussing things concerning Regina and her father or subjects they are not supposed to hear but the thought that it's just the two of them, only for a second or two, settles Emma; the sparse tingle transforms into a flux of lightness Emma can feel running through her veins.

Killian braids his hand with hers and places a kiss of encouragement on top of Emma's knuckles. The moment doesn't last long because Killian lets go of her palm and molds his body into fight mode. He's ready and so is she.

Step by step they approach, their feet light on the ground to avoid losing the element of surprise. It seems that Jafar's servants are as intrigued by the red hue, they stopped being guards and turned into spectators. A big advantage for the four of them.

Emma and Regina watch Killian and David take the lead. Killian's face looks concentrated, his brows drawn together. His eyes however, contradict the importance of the situation; the blue irises gleam with a boyish enthusiasm, excitement for action. His lips form a nearly predatory smile. One fit for a notorious pirate captain, one that would make Emma, if she were on the receiving end, either considerably scared or very turned on. Killian treads closer and makes Emma reconsider: it doesn't have to be meant for her to make her feel sensations in the pit of her belly.

Several times Emma blinks exaggeratedly, internally berating herself for getting distracted by her man yet again. The mission. That's the only thing she can think of and focus on.

"Go!" David yells and sets the whole attack into motion.

The guards turn around with widened eyes and unsheathe their swords, some already too late as Killian or David have already reached them. Emma runs, avoiding the brightly dressed men and heading straight for the wizard. A first blast of white magic bursts out of her hand. They alternate between Regina's red shimmers and Emma's white to overpower Jafar.

The tall, skinny man was relying on his men to protect him, the evil plan he was executing draining all of his energy from him. Emma and Regina discover that rapidly as he falls to the ground completely exhausted and the red curtain drops.

While their fight has ended, the men's is still going strong, the grunts and clashes being the indication of that.

Emma watches Killian, the way he strikes and attempts to strike the far shorter Agrabanian (Agrabahman? What do you call a person from Agrabah?)

It's difficult to forget your boyfriend is hot but this… holy shit. Killian is a menace dressed in black, swinging his sword, combining his hook with it. The elegance he possesses as he spins around astounds Emma. The tactic is his signature move, she has seen him use it a lot, Killian had even used it against her in another lifetime, but never did she notice the beauty of it.

Everything he does, every step he takes is measured whereas his opponent is merely trying to survive, striking and plunging into the empty air. Killian is confident and their fight is nearing completion. A missed strike on the left, a lunge that puts all the focus on his leather clad legs and Jafar's last standing guard is rendered unconscious by Killian.

His chest heaves but Killian smiles with content. The black locks that have fallen onto his forehead are put back in their rightful place. He turns his head and right before his and Emma's eyes meet and she's caught staring, diverts her gaze back to Jafar.

"What should we do with him?" she asks Regina who is inspecting the unconscious man as well.

"I have no idea. We can't be certain when his powers will return and when they do he is an immense threat."

"I could possibly help with that," Killian says, joining them with David following closely.

Emma raises her eyebrow in question and Killian's hand temporarily disappears into his vest and reveals a small vile. Regina walks closer and snags the bottle away.

"Is this what I think it is?"

"Squid ink." Killian nods. "Courtesy of Belle. I stopped by the shop to see if she had anything to help us."

And to think Emma thought she couldn't get more amazed by her pirate.

"Babe, that's perfect. Thank you!" Emma says.

Her father pats her boyfriend's shoulder with a congratulation.

"Good call, Hook."

Compliments turn Killian all bashful, so it doesn't surprise Emma when he slightly lowers his head and waves the whole ordeal away.

Regina uncorks the bottle and the blue liquid trickles out, every drop helping to form a barrier over Jafar to contain his magic.

"I'll take all of our enemies here and lock them up. I'll transport them to the station via magic."

"Great, we'll go back there and then Killian and I are heading home. It's been a long day."

* * *

They had driven the Bug from the sheriff's station to their beautiful grey house and had settled in the couch the instant they entered. Emma's feet are in Killian's lap as they both rest. Opening her eyelids, she sees that Killian's are still closed. It's an opportunity to just watch him slumber, his body relaxed and face tranquil.

How did she ever get so lucky to have him as her boyfriend, as her true love, best friend and partner all at once?

Emma must have been buried deep in thought because next thing she knows Killian is staring back at her.

"Swan?"

Emma inhales.

"Uhuh?" she hums.

Killian's hook and hand grab ahold of her ankles and pull until Emma is closer to him and she is nearly sitting in his lap.

"Are you ogling me?" he asks, his tone playful and a smile plastered on his face.

"What?" Emma attempts to play the 'I have no idea what you are talking about card.' "No," she firmly states.

Somehow, Killian's smile grows and becomes an overwhelmingly beautiful grin accompanied by one lifted brow.

"But you have." Killian nods and laughs. "The entire day."

So all of those times where Emma thought she was being subtle and inconspicuous, Killian had known and the jerk didn't even tell her.

"I haven't been ogling you," Emma defends herself. "I've simply been appreciative of…" Killian raises his eyebrow even higher. "Your looks." she admits quietly.

The heat finds its way to her cheeks, most likely causing a rosy color on her pale skin. It feels embarrassing to be caught doing something she got carried away by. But Killian extinguishes her shame.

"Oh don't be embarrassed, Swan. I do the same."

That sparks Emma's interest. Her blonde eyebrows rise.

"You do?" she questions.

"Absolutely. Every day, my love. And when you chase someone with that determined look, well, let's say-"

Killian grabs her and swiftly sets Emma on his lap. His tongue runs over the border of his lips. Emma feels the heat he is emitting, feels her heartbeat accelerating with every inch he leans closer.

"-that I get chills," he whispers right before connecting their lips.

Linking her arms behind his neck, Emma kisses him back with an equal amount of passion. This has been what she's been daydreaming about for hours. She's not about to let the opportunity go to waste. Not that there aren't a lot of opportunities with Killian.

She runs her fingers through his hair, softly scraping his scalp. The moan he lets out is one she feels to her core. She needs him. After yearning for him the entire day long, she needs him right now.

"Bedroom," Emma says shortly stopping their kiss.

"Your wish is my command," Killian replies, standing up and carrying her up the stairs.

Sometimes Emma is sick of her life as savior/sheriff. Storybrooke is hectic and tiring, but when you have Killian to support you and help you. When you have a home with him and he cherishes you. And you occasionally even get to ogle that fine body of his, what's there to complain about?

 **Maybe one day I'll be comfortable enough to actually attempt to raise the rating but I'm not there yet.**


	9. you drive me insane

**Het prompt: You're a shit driver and I honked and yelled at you through our open windows but then my car broke down a few miles later and oh shit why are you stopping and helping me out when I was an asshole to you**

How long has it been since she has seen her parents last? Three months, maybe four? Too long, that's for certain. Even though Emma is twenty-eight and she has long outgrown her small birth town, trading it in for the metropole that is Boston, she does miss the tranquility of Storybrooke. How generous and kind everyone is, how everyone knows each other and holds conversations over Granny's counter. As a cranky teenager Emma found it incredibly annoying, but as a sometimes lonely grown-up in a big city full of anonymity, that's the most alluring thing to return to.

Storybrooke lies hidden in plain sight, only those who look for it can find it between the woods it's enclosed by; after leaving the highway, there are small, sinuous roads and breathtaking views that go on for over an hour and lead you to the town border. Normally, they are deserted, not used by a soul except for Emma, so when she spots a car driving about a mile in front of her Bug, her eyebrows soar up with surprise.

The longer Emma keeps driving, the closer she gets to the dark vehicle. Threatening to hit the rear of the car, she's forced to break. Her speed decreases drastically in contrary to the irritation towards the person in front of her.

Her fingers itch to turn her wheel and pass the dark Toyota, but there's a solid white line drawn on the black asphalt and her father thought her better than to drive over one. Patience is a virtue.

At first she does try to follow, to lightly keep her right foot on the pedal, barely pushing down, but she surrenders to the chagrin as, with one blow, Emma's hand presses down on the wheel, producing a loud and steady honk.

It doesn't affect the driver or his turtle pace. Nor does the second or third toot. By this time, Emma is fuming. Whoever is driving a car is clearly an ass. Or over eighty-five, that's an option too. If it was indeed a pensioner, she would feel a bit guilty but Emma doubted it. No pensioner would drive this type of car and even if they did, they certainly would not let it drive this slow when it's capable of so much more.

In defiance of her father's driving lessons, Emma decides that this cannot go on. Who knows how long she'll be forced to drive behind him and who knows how long a more or less ninety minute journey will take her at this rate. The Bug swerves to the left. Because the chances of her coming across yet another car on this road are practically null, Emma lingers next to the black vehicle, driving in a parallel line. Both of their windows are open which brings an opportunity.

"Hey!" Emma yells, her attempt to catch his attention unneeded as his look was already on her. "You're not a fucking turtle, you know. Drive faster than ten fucking miles per hour. Thank you," she ends with snide.

A man is driving, a man who is definitely not a senior citizen but one who looks more like her age. His eyes are blocked by sunglasses and he has a beard and dark hair; Emma doesn't pay any more attention to him and proceeds with getting away.

Finally. Emma pushes the gas pedal down, abandoning the other car without a second glance.

The weather is amazing, the sun shines brightly, not a cloud in the bluest sky. Perfect road trip weather. The wind acts as music on which Emma's blonde tresses dance. She feels the annoyance dissolve and turns the radio a bit louder.

Five songs pass when her blissful mood is disturbed by a sound not resembling music in the slightest bit. Emma tries to ignore it, but her car rumbles and barks. These are not sounds it should be making, especially in the middle of nowhere.

"What? Come on, don't do this."

Pleads and supplication come out of her mouth but none work. The Bug begins to jolt and Emma lets out an exasperated sigh, cursing elaborately under her breath. With its last resource, the yellow car reaches the side of the road before letting out a final spurt and dying.

Out of her seat she gets, scared of what she might come across. Her beloved car is an oldie; for decades the Volkswagen Beetle has roamed the streets, seen tons of different places and has had so many people at the wheel. Emma is not looking forward to the day the problems are beyond fixing.

The engine looks fine, Emma discovers as she opens the back of the car. There's no fire coming out of it, not even smoke for that matter, but that means she now has to go on a quest to find the cause of the breakdown. Which is difficult because she can't see anything wrong.

Eventually, Emma gives up, not wanting to spend her entire day scrutinizing every little part. Stretching her arm, she grabs her phone off the passenger's seat. One click, nothing happens. Another tap, still no sign of life.

"Why are you not turning on?"

As she pushes down on the button, a bit forcefully maybe, a red battery fills her screen.

"Oh fuck!" Emma shouts.

The curse words that were silent and controlled before, are now loudly yelled at the two lifeless objects. Did she do something to upset the gods? Because some divine creature must hate her. What is she supposed to do now? On a barely used road with an empty phone and broken car?

Emma wants to kick the car out of frustration but seeing that it's already broken, she directs her anger towards tree. At least it isn't dark yet. Summer brought those ancillary hours of daylight; three months ago, the sun would have set earlier and Emma would be stuck on a scarcely illuminated road. Sitting in the dark alone would be far worse.

The book she brought in her suitcase serves as a distraction as Emma awaits rescue. Rescue she isn't sure that will even come. Nevertheless, she reads. First one page, then a chapter and while she is finishing the last words of chapter three, she hears the sounds of liberation. An engine. Leaping up and tossing the book aside, Emma rushes out of the car.

"Please come this way, please come this way, please…"

The vehicle comes closer and closer, changing from a dot to a car. The distance between them becomes small enough for Emma to attribute traits to the moving mass. Shit. A black Toyota. That's the car from before. The same driver she insulted and angrily drove away from next.

Why? Why couldn't it be a nice old lady or a suburban mom? Hell, she would give anything for her fictional pensioner. Why couldn't it be anyone but him? There's no way Turtle's going to help her, she treated him too badly for that.

Emma sighs and closes her eyes in defeat. It's a lost case, so she returns to the Bug, picks the book from off the floor and pretends the other person was just a figment of her imagination, a Fata Morgana.

Then the actual unimaginable happens. The car leaves the road and comes to a halt behind Emma. For a split second Emma remains frozen, eyes wide with shock. Until the fact that the man is actually standing there, ready to help her, catches up. She swings her legs out of the car and gets up. He slowly approaches and slides his shades into his dark locks. The most striking pair of blue eyes get revealed and Emma finds herself awestruck.

Wow, Turtle is hot.

"What seems to be the problem?" he asks with a kind smile.

And British!

"Umm," Emma hesitates.

This is the guy she lashed out at 20 minutes ago, she's sure of it. Why is he being nice to her and helping? Emma blocks the questions in her head. In the end, there really isn't another option than to put her wariness aside and to let him be friendly; his motives don't matter, she needs help.

"My car decided to break down." Emma's face turns sad. "And my phone died, so I can't call a tow truck."

"That is quite the predicament," he agrees, nodding his head lightly. "Could I first have a look? If I can't help you, you can definitely use my mobile to call a mechanic."

The man raises his eyebrows, hovering in place. That's a good sign; Turtle doesn't move until Emma gives her permission. It encourages her to agree to let him touch the Bug.

"Sure, go ahead. I couldn't find anything wrong but maybe you can."

The sleeves of his grey henley get pushed upwards as he walks towards the open hood. Emma's eyes travel all the way down. Besides the grey shirt, he is dressed in a pair of black leather pants with black boots to finish off his look. Which is, admittedly, a very good one. How come she didn't notice that before? Oh, yeah. He's a shit driver. But if Emma had known he looked like this, she would've picked another nickname. Like Koala Bear, they're slow as well _and_ cute. It's too late now. Once a Turtle, always a Turtle

"That is quite the vessel you captain there." His hand traces the yellow paint. "A true beauty."

His voice is outlined by awe. Somehow, hearing him compliment her car, something that is such a big part of her character and life, provokes a burst of pride joined by warm rush of blood towards her cheeks.

"Yeah," she agrees. She's been mine for over 10 years, I'm very attached. I am dreading the day she completely breaks down."

Emma watches the Brit inspect the engine; he careens over it, his hands tinkering with some of its parts. In thought and with creased brows, he takes a step back. During the observation, his head tilts. Without speaking, his determined stride transports him to the driver's seat. His attention focuses on something inside.

"Swan," he says to himself in a low tone.

It's loud enough however for Emma to hear it and to automatically answer, not even questioning how the stranger knows her name.

"Yeah?"

As she reacts, he looks back at her, like a child being caught doing something it is not supposed to do. There is a hint of disorientation in his gaze. Bashfully, he rubs the skin on the back of his head.

"I was simply commenting on your keychain. It has a swan on it," he attempts to explain.

Of course. How could she forget Neal's keychain? To clear out the confusion out of the air, Emma elucidates her own reaction.

"Oh, Swan is my name."

"Is it now?" His sapphire eyes shine with interest.

"Yes." She nods. "Emma Swan."

Turtle ducks his head under the Bug's roof and turns the key. There's no response, not one sign of life; the silence stays.

"Well, Emma Swan." He stands straight again and addresses her. "I'm sorry to tell you but I cannot fix your car."

Out of his pocket, he grabs his phone, quickly tapping the code in and handing it to Emma. His hand gestures to go ahead and she thankfully receives it.

The first thing she does is look up the closest and only mechanic nearby. It doesn't take her very long to find the number and obtain a conversation. All the while, her savior calmly and patiently waits, staying around but not blatantly eavesdropping.

"Paul's car shop. How can I help?" a low voice on the other end of the phone greets Emma.

"Hello, I'm Emma Swan. My car has broken down and I'm in need of a tow truck."

"I'm sorry ma'am, but I'm currently picking up another vehicle. I can only help you in about an hour."

Another setback. Emma is fed up with it. Instead of sighing or using profanities, she reluctantly agrees to waiting, after letting Paul know where she and her car are.

"What did they say?" Emma is asked as she approaches Turtle again.

"At least an hour," she responds, not one sign of joy in her tone. "Could I make another call? My parents are expecting me and my mom is going to be worried sick if I don't arrive on time or answer my phone."

"Of course."

Luckily Emma's mother forced her to learn every important phone number by heart, including her moms. And they still lie fresh in her memory.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mom. It's Emma. My car broke down so I won't be on time."

Emma should have known she can't tell her mother things like that casually. Because she freaks out and worries every time. Like she does now.

"Mom, calm down," Emma requests. "I'm alright. I was able to leave the road on time. It will be at least an hour until the tow truck arrives and who knows how long it will take before I can leave."

"I understand. Why aren't you calling with your phone?" her mother asks.

"My phone died. I'm calling with-" Emma falters.

In the time since he's stopped and helped her and now, his name has not been said. Hers, yes but his still remains a mystery. He catches on and whispers, "Killian."

"-Killian's phone." She sends him a grateful smile.

"Who is Killian?" Emma's mother asks. "Emma… is he your boyfriend? Are you bringing him to meet us?"

Emma lets out an internal sigh. Only her mom could assume she had a boyfriend by the mere mention of a boy's name.

"No, Killian is not my boyfriend," Emma answers full of incredulity.

Killian looks up at the mention of his name and chuckles at the word boyfriend. Emma's lips curl as well.

"How would that even be possible?" she continues to talk to her mother. "Never mind, he saved me. I don't know when I'll arrive at your place."

"Alright, we'll save you some dinner. Be safe and we love you."

"Don't worry, okay? Love you, too, say hi to Dad and I'll hopefully see you in a couple of hours."

Ending the call, Emma hands Turtle- Killian his phone back.

"Thanks."

"No worries," he replies, accepting the device and stashing it away in the pocket of his dark pants.

Emma leans against the Bug, her ankles crossed and hands open against the yellow surface.

"I guess I'll have to wait until the truck arrives, but thanks for all the help," Emma expresses her gratitude.

The help Killian has provided has helped Emma tremendously but there is not much Killian can do anymore. Nor Emma, but she is forced to stay here until the mechanic comes. Remarkably, Killian doesn't return to his car. His feet remain in place.

"I have a proposition to make, Swan." he tells her.

Emma pulls her eyebrows together. They really don't know each other enough for him to make propositions out of the blue.

"Okay...," Emma stretches out the word to show her hesitance.

"Instead of you sitting in your car with nothing to do, I will keep you company and even drive you to the nearest road restaurant for some greasy food. What do you think?"

What does she think? She is craving a grilled cheese, that's for sure, and she is definitely dreading the sitting in her car for an hour. Killian is hot and kind of charming and he hasn't even brought up the incident from before.

"I'll accept-" Killian grins at her answer. "- if you tell me your last name. I feel I need reassurance in case I have to report you to the police or something."

The dazzling grin on his face only widens.

"Oh, you're a tough lass. It's Jones. Killian Jones."

Satisfied with the answer, Emma follows him to his Toyota. Emma buckles up while Killian sets his GPS to lead them to the diner. It takes them fifteen minutes to get there (probably less if Emma was allowed to drive) and Emma is able to not make any mean remarks about his driving. It would be too ungrateful.

They sit down at table with a red and white checkered table cloth, an obligatory decor piece in local diners.

"Can I ask you something?" Emma asks as they have settled comfortably across each other.

Killian gives her a silent permission.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she finally questions. "I mean, we both know I insulted you earlier."

"I can handle it, Swan. It would be very bad form to leave you on the side of the road without any help, not knowing when the next car would come."

So no hidden intention, no trace of vindictiveness towards her words from before, Killian is just a good guy. An amazingly good guy. Emma wants to articulate her appreciation yet again because her previous thank you's are not sufficient enough, but before she can, a waitress dressed in pink and with bright orange hair comes to take their order.

"What can I get ya?" The brown eyes look at them expectantly and the pen in her hand is ready to scribble.

"A grilled cheese and onion rings and a hot chocolate with cinnamon for me, please."

"I'll have the burger and fries and an ice tea," Killian completes the order.

"Coming right up." The woman leaves with that promise and they both smile at her.

Emma begins to form her thank you again, this time interrupted by Killian's attempt to start a new talk.

"So you're going to your parents?"

"Yeah, I live in Boston and it's been awhile since I've seen them. They live in this tiny town and I miss everyone," she admits with a small smile. "Where are you going? It's very unusual for me to come across other drivers on that road."

Killian's shoulders rise in a shrug.

"I don't really have a destination in mind." His hands intertwine on the table. "Just wanted to get away from things."

His words speak to Emma and partially bare their kindred spirits. How many times has she felt the same way, the need to leave for a while, to recharge her batteries in a new place. Sadly, her boss is a selfish prick and barely even grants her vacation days. If she got more days off, she would definitely visit her parents more frequently.

The waitress returns, balancing their plates and a tray with their drinks.

"Here's ya food." She sets Emma's grilled cheese in front of her and Emma feels her stomach growl in response of the scent.

"Thank you."

Immediately lifting the sandwich, Emma dives in. Killian follows her lead. They both focus on their food, instead of the conversation; the silence is pleasant, there's no rush to find a topic to spark another another one. Silence is very underrated, living in a loud city full of honking and yelling will teach you that.

"How is your grilled cheese?" Killian inquires right before popping a fry into his mouth.

"Not as good as Granny's, but it'll do."

Killian's eyebrow goes up, asking her to divulge the phenomenon that is Granny's. Emma turns her lips upwards.

"Granny's is the diner of my hometown. It's basically the heart of the entire community,"she explains.

Killian nods his head, an aha look on his face. "Where is it you were born?"

"Prepare yourself… It's called Storybrooke."

"Sounds fairytale-like." Killian says fascinatedly.

Sometimes Storybrooke really does. Emma still isn't sure that it is not. There are just so many little things that make it seem fictional. Like how people used to refer to her parents as "The Charmings" instead of calling them Mary Margaret and David. It was way faster and seeing her parents interact with each other and the rest of the town only confirmed that nickname.

"It really is." Emma takes a sip of her hot cocoa. "Where are you from?"

The accent already betrayed that he definitely wasn't born in the States. Normally, Emma is terrible at accents, reproducing them and recognizing them, but Killian's is clearly British; she watched enough episodes of Downton Abbey to identify it.

"London, but I've lived here for almost a year," he replies.

Emma intends to ask him what his reason was. Why he moved, why he left his home for a completely foreign environment. Before she can, however, Killian already answers the question, like he read it in her mind. His features darken almost imperceptibly, Emma still notices.

"I moved after my brother and fiancée died in a car crash two years ago."

Emma's eyes widen of shock. A car crash?

Killian continues, "I was the only survivor. I was lucky enough to only get my left hand crushed and I've regained most of its function." He lifts up his hand and only now, in the bright neon light, does Emma notice the thick, silvery line running from his index to his wrist.

Killian was in a car crash, is emotionally and physically scarred for life and that's probably the reason he is such a slow and careful driver. She yelled at him. She insulted him. Oh god. If Emma didn't feel bad already, she now felt like the biggest bitch ever born.

Curling up in front of her face, her hand covers Emma's mouth.

"Killian, I'm so sorry. I'm such a terrible person for yelling at you." Emma is appalled by her own words and actions.

Killian grabs her upper arm, softly squeezing it in reassurance.

"Emma, it's all right. You could not have known."

How is _he_ reassuring _her_? What kind of amazing creature is he? Is this Zeus' reward for being a good person or something? The mettle showed by Killian amazes Emma; she is rendered silent for a minute. She gravitates towards him, to be closer to him or to kiss him and he sends her an apologizing look before leaning away. To avoid any more embarrassment, Emma retreats as quickly as possible. Killian reveals his phone and brings it closer to his ear.

"Hello?"

Wait, he was being called by someone. He didn't shy away because he wasn't into it. The small wound of rejection in her pride gets healed.

"Great, we'll arrive shortly. Goodbye." Killian ends the call and directs his attention back to her. "Good news, the tow truck will be there in ten minutes."

"Perfect, let's get back," Emma suggest, pretending that that little moment from before did not happen.

Killian drives them back and when they arrive at the yellow Bug, Paul is already there. As he examines the car, Emma and Killian talk in the black Toyota. They talk for a long time and the mechanic needs to tap on Killian's window to catch their attention.

"The problem was the fuel flow to your engine, but I've reattached the cable and you should be good now."

"Wait, so that's it?" Emma asks. "No need to get towed or wait for parts…" The balding man shakes his head and makes Emma unbelievably happy. "Thank you so much."

After Emma pays him, Paul is back on his way and Killian and Emma are left alone again. The only difference is that now, they don't have a reason to linger anymore. They can both leave this strip of gravel on the side of the road and go home, but neither of them wants to.

"I suppose this is goodbye," Killian gently says.

"I suppose it is," Emma agrees.

They awkwardly stand in front of each other, not taking any initiative to move.

"Goodbye, Swan."

"Goodbye, Turtle." Emma presses her lips against his cheek as that ultimate thank you she never got to say, but somehow can't anymore.

* * *

As the doorbell rings at the Nolan's house, Mary Margaret rushes off the couch. She wasn't going to bed before Emma arrived. Her daughter is surely tired and hungry and those two emotions combined, lead to one cranky Emma. The door opens and Mary Margaret is surprised by what she sees. Not a cranky Emma but a smiling, even a grinning one. There's a man standing behind her and his face bears the same happiness.

"Hi, Mom. I finally made it." Emma opens her arms and Mary Margaret envelops her in a hug.

"Don't you mean "we"?" she whispers into her daughter's hair.

A knowing look is sent her way by the green eyes Emma inherited from her.

"Mom, this is Killian." Emma's hand motions between the two dark haired people in the room. "Killian, this is my mom Mary Margaret."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Milady." says Killian, who is apparently British.

Extending her hand, Mary Margaret is expecting a polite shake of hands. When Killian kisses her knuckles instead, the color rises to her cheeks. How chivalrous.

"I thought he wasn't your boyfriend," Mary Margaret interrogates Emma when Killian excuses himself to go use the toilet.

Emma shrugs.

"He isn't." Mary Margaret raises her eyebrow skeptically. "Or wasn't. I don't know. I seriously met him when my car broke down."

"And you're bringing him here?"

Emma worriedly bites her lip. She's nervous. Maybe she is regretting bringing Killian here in the first place. A worried sigh escapes.

"Is that alright? Does that make me insane?" her daughter doubts herself.

"Honey, of course it doesn't," she supports her.

Mary Margaret knows how powerful love can be. She's experienced it first hand with her husband. After a mere day together, they both knew that this was it, that they were meant to spend their lives together. And twenty-nine years late, that feeling has not changed.

"I am completely fine with it. It's your father you need to convince."

Like a performer being announced, David makes an entrance.

"Emma!" he yells. "Who is that man standing in my living room?"

"Crap."


	10. the best time of your life

**Prompten: this person has a huge crush on another person and he/she doodles on their notebooks about their crush and one day, the person's crush accidentally takes their notebook instead of their own**

 **I have no idea how American universities are so this is completely based on how things work at my university. (Thursday is the day everyone goes out because a lot of the students return home for the weekend)**

Who on earth believed it was all right to schedule one of the most complex and difficult courses on a Friday, at 8.30 in the morning, no less. Because Killian could have a serious talk with that person. Students are not fresh, nor eager to learn at that time; they are tired, their minds still hazed by alcohol and lack of sleep. And having those people sit through a three hour lecture by a professor who has never heard of the word intonation, is basically spurring them to fail.

But every week again, at 8.15 sharp Killian walks into the lecture hall, a trace of darkness under his eyes and the thought that he can't miss this class in his head.

The black seats are mainly still empty, only a few eager students have already claimed one as theirs. It is not difficult to spot her, the chestnut strands perfectly braided and her face bright, as if she hadn't been out and about with Killian and the rest of their friends only a couple of hours ago. Belle waves to signal that the place next to her is reserved for him.

"Good morning," she chirps, making Killian wonder how she is in such a good mood after barely four hours of sleep.

"Morning," he replies, a little less happy. "How do you do it?"

Belle immediately picks up as to what he is referring and snickers softly.

"The powers of tea, Killian. Never underestimate them."

Killian unfolds the desk and sets his backpack on the ground. Trying to move around in the tight space, he retrieves the 500 page syllabus (how is that considered a summary?) out of it. When he sits back up, a tall, white cup is standing on the corner of the table.

"Coincidentally," Belle resumes, "I brought you some."

"Thank you, Belle."

Killian's hands curl around the container, absorbing the warmth it's transferring. The signs that winter is arriving become more evident every day; when Killian leaves in the morning the sun is only beginning to ascend. A cold wind turns his hands and the tips of his ears red and seems more at home in the North Pole than in the USA. It won't take long until the snow starts to fall; exams will follow suit, winter really isn't that fun.

Sipping the hot liquid, Killian leafs through the book in front of him in search of the page the lesson ended last week. The professor was discussing the influence of the media on history and while that is quite an interesting topic, Killian spent more time on his phone texting with Robin and Liam than he did listening. He finds the page and lightly presses down to keep it in place. Students keep trickling in, taking their seat and as the clock's time shifts, the lecture starts.

There are some certainties in life; the sky is blue, the world is round, hours go more slowly in class and the blond girl is always twenty minutes late.

At first Killian didn't notice her, how could he in an auditorium with hundreds of people, but the third week she entered, they were being shown a video in dimmed light and her presence literally illuminated the room. Hastily, she sought out one of the empty seats on the first row, trying to limit the attention towards her.

As the year progresses, the others get used to her being late, they don't look up anymore when she enters at 8:50, but Killian does. Every time.

He sees her blond hair. He sees her red leather jacket, which clings to her figure so wonderfully, her high boots, her backpack carelessly thrown over her shoulder. He sees her, but doesn't know her, doesn't even know her name. They only have one class together as far as Killian knows, one the whole faculty has and he hasn't seen her anywhere on campus.

If he did, maybe he would actually have a shot to talk to her, to attach a face and name to the silhouette. Maybe it would become less weird to be practically in love with someone he has only seen from a long distance.

"Why is she always late?" Killian asks himself in a quiet whisper.

Belle's head turns with a questioning look, telling Killian it wasn't that quiet. She bows closer.

"Who are you talking about?"

Killian tips his chin towards the blonde and Belle follows his direction.

"Oh, Emma," she says.

His eyes grow larger first before he turns his head to Belle with such velocity that there's a crack coming from his neck. Did he hear that right?

"Sorry?" says Killian coyly, trying to gain more information from his friend.

"That's Emma," Belle repeats and when there is still no spark of recognition in Killian's eyes, she continues. "You know Mary Margaret, right? David's girlfriend?"

Of course Killian knows her. He has met Mary Margaret a couple of times when they were having a big party with all of their friends present and they spoke a few times. Mary Margaret seems great and David is absolutely smitten with her. For good reason, those two are perfect as a couple. There are no kinder, more generous souls walking on campus and those two souls belong together.

"Yeah."

"Emma Swan-" Belle points at the first row seat where the blonde is sitting. "- is Mary Margaret's roommate. They're friends even though Emma is a little secluded sometimes."

So all this time, all the time spent wondering who she was and thinking about her, mystery blonde girl and Killian were only separated by two connections, David and Mary Margaret. Well, he doesn't have to call her mystery girl anymore, it's Emma Swan. How good it feels to have such a substantial piece of her character. It suits her.

"Huh, I did not know that." Killian takes a nonchalant sip of his tea, ending their talk and focusing on Professor Monotonous again.

His attention doesn't stay long on the balding man, but shifts to a little nook of white, textless space in the syllabus. Grabbing his pencil, he starts sketching a beak and a curvy neck. Feathers form on the page and adorn the body. Killian leans back a bit, gazing at his drawn swan. Perfect.

-/-

It was a bad idea to go out last night and it was an even worse idea to forget to set his alarm clock. It was Belle's phone call at 8:25 that took over his alarm's job and scared Killian awake.

He can never be on time, not when he still needs to get dressed and his books are scattered in a mess on his desk. Killian also can't miss this class because what the professor says, how lifeless it may be, is worth so much on the exam.

Breathlessly, Killian slowly pushes one of the double doors open, peaking inside before he walks in. With a couple of quick steps and his eyes directed to the ground, he reaches an empty first row chair. There's a buzz in his pocket and Killian takes out his phone.

 _Belle: Well, good morning sleepyhead_

 _Killian: Shhhh, did I miss much?_

 _Belle: Nope, only a 10 minute introduction_

 _Killian: Great, I'll join you after the break_

Their conversation ends there, Killian not feeling comfortable with texting right under the professor's nose. There really isn't much to do except for dedicating his full concentration to the lecture.

"Is this seat empty?"

Killian breaks his attention away and turns to the source of the whisper. He forgets how to move for a moment; her beauty too overwhelming for his slightly still hungover and four hours of sleep self to comprehend. Besides, this is the first time Killian has had the honor to behold Emma Swan from up close. He definitely wasn't ready for this.

"Um, yeah," he whispers back, his throat suddenly way drier than it had been before.

Emma sits down next to him, flicking her blonde hair aside to take off her red jacket. Killian tries not to stare, he tries to force his eyes to leave her and listen to the lesson, but they just keep drifting back. Back to her. Back to Emma Swan.

This isn't good. Before she was simply a stranger, a random person his mind had turned into this perfect girl, but now… Killian knows for certain that her eyes are green and that she smells like cinnamon and that he's completely fucked. There's no way he will ever be able to stop thinking about her. And he can't come across like an obsessed freak (where did his dashing side go and how can he get it back)

After fifty minutes, the first break of two comes around and Killian decides to take action. He should at least have one conversation with her, to make him seem less like a stalker and more like a striking fellow student.

Those mossy eyes of hers are glued to a bright mobile screen while her thumb swipes over the glass.

"I'm Killian," he says.

"Emma." Her reply is accompanied by a small, courteous smile.

Her gaze falls on her phone again, thinking that there is no need for further interaction besides their introduction.

"What do you study?"

Emma's fingers pause above her screen, being watched by her and as the seconds tick away, Killian becomes afraid that she'll simply start typing again and ignore him and his question altogether. It is a relief when Emma seems intrigued enough by him to lock her mobile and stuff it away in the pocket of her jeans.

"Moral sciences." Emma adapts her position in the cramped seat and faces him. "You?" she asks in return.

"History."

It makes Emma laugh and Killian smiles along, even if he doesn't really understand her amusement; he feels her laughter resonate inside.

"I really don't get why people would voluntarily study history," she says boldly.

It should offend Killian, but he's grown used to the comments. So many people just don't see the use of someone studying the past, they see it as a waste of time and a future without prospects or prosperity. He doesn't mind. They can say whatever they would like. Killian loves seeing the customs throughout history. He loves reading about things that have taken place. His soul is an old one.

"I could say the same about moral sciences," Killian retorts. "Besides, I get to write essays about piracy in history and I don't think you get to do that."

This time the reason Emma laughs is very clear. Because of him.

"No, I guess I don't," Emma concedes with a small roll of her eyes.

"I take it you're not a big fan of Historical Criticism."

"How did you guess?" Emma teases.

Killian raises his shoulders pretending to gloat.

"There's a reason I always arrive late. I don't like this course and I don't like getting up early on a Friday for this."

"Then why do you still attend?" Killian questions.

"Well..." Emma comes closer, as if she is just about the share a valuable secret that is only meant for his ears. "Rumor has it that only two out of ten students pass this course and I'd still like some chance to be one of those."

"Hold on, two out of ten?" he repeats unbelievingly.

Killian knew that HC was indeed very difficult, but he had never heard that things were that bad. He does a mental count.

"That's like 120 people out of this room."

"I know."

"Bloody hell."

The rustle over the intercom starts anew, announcing the reprise of the lesson and ending the conversation between Emma and Killian.

It's a wonder when Killian manages to focus and note what is being said and everything improves even more when the professor shows several clips of footage to support his words.

The second break arrives fast and Killian wants to continue his chat with Emma, but she stands up, lifting the foldable desk and announcing she has to go to the bathroom. She awkwardly holds her syllabus and papers in hand, looking for a spot to put it. Before she can duck down to take her backpack, Killian, the gentleman that he is, offers to place it on her desk. With a thank you, Emma leaves the row.

"Do not worry, your book and notes shan't come into danger and will remain in my safe keep," he calls, immediately cringing at his own words.

Emma lightly shakes her head, a smile playing on her lips. A good sign Killian hopes. A sign she doesn't think he's a complete nerd.

"And I thought you were coming to me after the break, but I see you've already found a replacement for me."

Right, Belle. Killian promised to go sit with her after the first break and he completely forgot. Or the thought was blocked by Emma's presence.

"I'm sorry, Belle," he apologizes.

Belle plunks down on the chair next to him.

"Don't worry about it." She elbows him with a grin. "How's Emma?"

"Nice. And amazing," he adds.

"Maybe you should be late more often."

Belle winks at him and Killian feels the blood rush to his face. Apparently his crush on Emma was a bit more obvious than he thought.

"Haha." Killian says, not a trace of humor in his voice.

"Alright, I'm going back to my seat. You'd better get her number after class, Killian Jones. Otherwise, you're back to another week of yearning looks and pining."

Belle stands up and Killian doesn't even attempt to convince her he doesn't yearn. He knows for a fact that he does.

Killian's pen rolls off the desk, falling dangerously close to the hole between the row and the floor. He dives after it, but as he straightens his back slightly too soon, the back of his head hits the desk. Growling in pain, Killian rubs over the aching spot. He fetches the books and notepads that had fallen in his moment of grace from the ground, grabs his mobile and pretends like nothing ever happened.

Especially when Emma enters the auditorium again. Killian continues to casually scroll through Facebook's contents.

"Thanks," Emma says as she returns to sit next to him. She takes the top syllabus and her block of paper underneath and hunches over the table. They both flip to the page where they had last added something to their scribbles.

The lesson ends with the professor explaining some reading they will have to do for next week's session and Emma hurriedly begins to pack her bag.

"I have another class in ten minutes so I have to hurry," she explains.

"I thought you didn't mind being late?"

"I don't. But only to the boring classes of course." Her backpack is swung on her shoulder and Emma folds her leather jacket around her arm. "See you next week, Killian."

"Bye," he responds, watching the blonde hair vanish again.

Shoving his stuff into his backpack, he stands up to let the other people pass. When he arrives at the entrance, Belle is waiting for him.

"Did you ask her?" Belle asks him hopefully.

Killian furrows his brow.

"Ask her what?"

"Killian." Her small hand gives him a light swat against the shoulder. "Her number," she clarifies.

Killian shakes his head.

"I forgot, but I'll do it next time."

In truth, Killian didn't forget. The thought crossed his mind several times. There is just something about her that makes him feel all bashful and insecure. Every time he tried to form the words, they got stuck somewhere in his throat.

"Okay." Belle's tone sounds unconvinced. "I have to go, I have my English literature class in 15 minutes. I'll see you on Monday."

-/-

The advantage of studying history is that there is not one class taught on Wednesday, which gives Killian a handy, midweek break from university. He sleeps in, classifies his documents and works for school.

The text they were supposed to read for Historical Criticism is long and filled with difficult, extended sentences that fill up one page according to Belle so he should better get that out of the way. Starting at the front, Killian searches the index for the topic the professor assigned.

There is something written in a fast scrawl that is clearly not his tidy handwriting.

 _Property of Emma Swan_

Their books must have accidentally gotten swapped as they fell on the ground. He guesses he'll hand her her book back on Friday in class. It's a convenient excuse to talk to Emma again.

Killian sifts through the book; he feels amazed by how blank the pages are, void of any notes or doodles. His syllabus is quite the contrary, filled with little blue and black drawings made in class or fluorescent ones made while studying.

Suddenly, Killian opens his eyes widely, a gasp following fast and his lips separating in a nearly comical expression. If Emma has his book, she will see the additions he made to it. The swan that he has drawn repeatedly on nearly every page. Perhaps she could think that's a coincidence, but the drawing of her could definitely not be.

She must recognize the hair and the jacket and why is he such an idiot? He can't even face her anymore to return her book if she has seen what is in his. There is a small chance, a nearly impossible, microscopically tiny chance that Emma won't bother to read the text. Her distaste for the subject might make her skip opening the syllabus entirely. Killian spends the next few minutes wishing fervently, asking the universe for this small favor.

-/-

The red, digital letters indicate that it is 8:20, ten full minutes until the lecture starts and Killian has to blink several times to check if he's not hallucinating when he sees Emma walk in. She's on time.

For the first time in over two months Emma Swan is on time for Historical Criticism. What an extraordinary day to witness.

There aren't many people seated yet which leaves a wide array of empty seats for Emma to choose from. And of course, because that's how the world works, Emma picks the empty place on his left.

"Good morning!" She drops her bag on the floor and opens the chair.

"Morning," he answers. "Look at you, on time for a change." Killian shoots her an impressed look.

"My roommate's alarm went off anyway so I thought I might get up as well." Emma shrugs coolly.

"Do you mean Mary Margaret?" Belle asks, leaning forward past Killian.

"Yeah." Emma smiles. "You know her?"

"I do, we both do. She's a friend of mine. I'm Belle by the way."

"Emma."

The two girls shake hands in front of Killian, forcing him to awkwardly recline to avoid interrupting their moment. He waits until they're finished to bring up the matter of the switched books.

"That reminds me," he begins. "Emma, we accidentally traded books. I have yours and you have mine."

Emma's blonde brow rises and she takes out said handbook.

"Oh really?"

Killian can barely suppress the sigh of relief. It is a good sign; Emma hadn't noticed yet.

"Didn't you do our homework?" Killian carefully inquires, trading the books that looked identical on the outside but couldn't be more different inside.

"Three hours of HC during the week is already enough, I'm not about to spend my free time on it as well."

Killian quickly removes the syllabus, safely hiding it in his backpack. He is going to do everything necessary to prevent ever having to endure a situation like this again.

The lights in the room dim slightly and the PowerPoint slides come up onto the screen. The lesson is about to start.

The breaks mainly consist of Emma and Belle discussing Mary Margaret and getting to know one another. Killian feels like he's acting like an inconvenient barrier between them and gets up at one point to "stretch his legs". There's nothing wrong with Emma and Belle becoming friends; it's even great and amazing, but he simply feels a bit redundant.

As he returns, the blonde and brunette stop chatting instantly and only confirm that feeling. Killian shakes it off, taking notice of all the different ways a source can be transmitted over the years and decades.

The second the lesson stops, Emma jumps on her feet and leaves directly, but not before making a small joke about Killian needing to check if it was truly his syllabus. He doesn't act on it, however, just says bye and follows her to the door with his eyes.

Ready to go as well, Killian zips up his backpack and finds Belle staring at him intently.

"What?" he questions, frowning.

"Check. Your. Book."

Belle doesn't say anything else, her eyes keep urging him to do so, like she is aware of something Killian isn't.

So, Killian unzips his backpack, takes out the book and opens the front. There, in that same hurried font, he finds _Emma_ scribbled and beneath it a mobile number.

"It's a good thing Emma took the lead on this one because I wasn't about to witness a 'will they, won't they' situation for months," his friend mutters, mostly to herself.

Killian laughs in disbelief, a wide grin on his face. Emma knew that it wasn't her book she took home. She did open it to do the assigned homework and she did see his drawings. And something tells Killian she didn't mind one bit.

Killian has reconsidered, Historical Criticism is totally worth getting up for.

 **Fun fact: I actually submitted this fic as a task for my English writing course. Just like Belle, I'm studying English (and Swedish) language and literature and I talk out of experience when I say that historical criticism kind of sucks. And it's actually taught on Friday at 8:30 in the morning.**


	11. if you're searching for forever

**El Prompt: In the EF, where the curse was never cast, Princess Emma and her brother from another mother Pinocchio steal away to attend an evening at a tavern, where a certain pirate Captain is taking challenges in a board game the disguised princess knew before talking... Pino tries talking her out of it, but you don't argue with Emma.**

 **The complete title is actually If you're searching for forever, I'll be waiting and it's a line from Find Me by Sigma which heavily inspired this.**

"I'm telling ya, Princess. This wretched man stole two of me finest chickens," a man dressed in brown and filthy clothes spoke.

"I did no such thing, your Highness," the other farmer replied in an as rich accent as the first.

The two continued to bicker but directed everything they said to Emma.

"Please." Emma raised her hand to quiet them both. "There are witnesses who saw you leaving with two chickens in your arms. How might you have acquired them if you have no animals of your own?"

The accused peasant became silent, red blending with the dark streaks on his cheeks. He opened his mouth to defend himself but couldn't think of anything to abolish the culpability that rested on him.

Emma's lips curled slightly, it wouldn't take long before the man pleaded guilty and that would end this weekly day of complaints.

One day, as Emma was on her way to her tutor, her parents joined her and shared the news that it was time for her to truly accept her duties as a princess. It confused Emma, she was convinced that she already had; she wore dresses, was courteous and polite, went to her classes and was kind. It had to be impossible to be even better.

Well, apparently it wasn't according to Queen Snow White.

Every Wednesday now, she was stuck on her throne, listening to her subjects, or rather her parents' subjects, grumbling about every possible problem they had encountered. And every Wednesday Emma listened, her face neutral and her judgment final.

It was a bit of a bore, a lot of it actually. But it was important to understand the people, to become as beloved by the public as her parents were and if that meant enduring hours upon hours of petty complaints, Emma would take her task seriously.

Exhaling, Emma rubbed a hand over her tired face as she crossed the hallway and left the throne room. Finally, the public mask was gone. The others might not have noticed their Princess was tired, but Emma was. Following the orders of her parents, the servants woke her up at 6 and dressed her. Breakfast followed and a completely planned day as well.

There were meetings to attend, laws to read and approve, dinners to host and foreign relations to be maintained. It seemed that her parents had forgotten that they were both in good health and had decades of reign left. Though so did Elsa's parents and they still died, leaving an unprepared and secluded Princess to become Queen. That was what really set the entire 'preparing Emma for later' action into motion.

"Hey, Em!"

Emma halted and looked up at the person who greeted her. Her face remained tired but a small smile lit it up.

"Hi, August," she replied.

It may have surprised a lot of people that the son of a carpenter addressed a princess with a nickname, foregoing any sort of title. But when you took in account that August's father had been the court's faithful carpenter since ages, and that Emma and August had been friends since she had practically been a baby, it made more sense

"You look a bit tired," he said.

Another perk of being friends for such a long time, no beating around the bush.

Emma locked their arms and together they meandered over the stones of the castle halls.

"That's because I am. I think Mom and Dad are set on exhausting me until I collapse."

"I'm sure they aren't, Emma. They're only trying to prepare you," August tried to persuade her.

He cried out when Emma's hand slapped against his arm, more out of reflex than pain. Emma doubted that she could do a lot to harm August, who was used to chopping wood outside.

"What was that for?" he asked indignantly, rubbing the place Emma had just hit.

"'My parents are preparing me?' You're supposed to be on my side."

"And I am," August assured her. "I'm here to accompany you and listen to you and be your friend. Though I'm not here to be your punching bag."

"Sorry."

Emma felt slightly guilty for hurting him. He was indeed her friend.

August laughed. "It's all right. Maybe I can talk to your parents? Convince them to cut you some slack?"

"They love you but not that much. They don't even love me that much. I simply need to get away for a while."

The words hung in the air while she watched August and the reaction he had to her expressed desire. Which was an understanding hum and nothing more. Emma stopped walking and August turned around, an inquiring look on his face.

"August," she began hesitantly, "You're my friend and friends help each other out."

His features became even more worried.

"Please, take me away. I'm going to suffocate here. With the frills-" Emma gestured towards her forest green dress. "-and the responsibilities and the rules. Just one night where no one knows who I am and where I don't have to play the part of the perfect princess," she begged.

"Emma, you know I can't do-"

She interrupted his refusal by grabbing his hands.

"Please, August. One night."

A sigh of conflict escaped his lips; he was clearly debating her request in his head. Anxiously, Emma held her breath awaiting the answer.

"One night?"

"One night." Emma nodded with assurance.

"Fine, I'll see what I can do," he agreed.

Emma felt a surge of happiness travel through her and she hugged August enthusiastically as if she was a small child who had just received a gift instead of a twenty-two-year-old who was allowed to leave the castle for one night.

"Thank you."

/-/

"Here you go," August said while dropping a set of clothes into Emma's arms. "These are clothes from the baker's daughter that should fit you."

Lifting the garments, Emma inspected the red skirt and the brown hood.

"They look perfect. Very unroyal-like." Emma smiled.

August was able to work out Emma's evening of fun very quickly. He had come up with a plan to leave the castle, had obtained clothing to disguise Emma and had found a place to go.

"Hide these under your bed and put them on after dinner, right after you've told your parents you're going to bed early."

Emma nodded, he had told her the plan twice already.

"Then I wait for you to knock on my door," she took over, "and we will leave through the servant corridor. We are going to a tavern, but not Red's because she would recognize us and tell my mother."

"Precisely, we'll drink something, maybe play some cards and then return to the castle. Grumpy still owes me a favor, so he'll open the entrance."

"Thank you again, August. For all the trouble."

"It's a good thing you're the crown princess. I'm expecting a knighthood for all of this," he joked, followed by a wink.

"I'll see what I can do," Emma chuckled.

/-/

The tavern smelled of alcohol and sweat intermixed, very different from the flowery fragrance that lingered in the castle and yet, Emma instantly felt at home in the candlelit establishment.

They illuminated the vivid people, drinking and laughing, being themselves. It was a stark contrast to when she would have entered the room as Emma, Crown Princess of the Enchanted Forest. Whenever they saw her, they became distant and rigid, their backs bent in a bow and eyes directed to the ground. Now she was a simple woman, one of them.

"What do you want to drink?" August asked Emma.

She had to think about it for a while, normally she drank the finest wine but that wouldn't really fit here.

"Some beer is alright."

Emma sat down at a table while August went to order their drinks. Her eyes casually roamed the room when her attention was captured by a loud shout of triumph.

It came from a table in the far back of the room. Its occupants were playing some sort of game and it seemed that one of them had just won.

"If anyone would like to take his chance to play against me, I'll have a challenge," the man yelled across the tavern in his colorful way of speech.

Emma bit her lip. She wasn't supposed to attract any attention towards her but the challenge was there to be accepted. And she never minded taking a cocky and overconfident man down a notch.

Turning to the table, Emma was ready to stand up.

"Don't."

Two cups were set on the wooden table.

"You do not want to mess with him," August continued.

Emma's blonde brow furrowed as he took a seat opposite her.

"Why not? Who is he?"

"Captain Hook."

The name rang a distant bell but Emma couldn't see why that meant she couldn't have some fun.

"So?" she questioned.

"Emma, you shouldn't. It's Captain Hook we're talking about," her friend emphasized his name. "He's a pirate and I've heard stories about all of the terrible and unjust things he has done. Besides, he is rumored to be working with Regina. Even if it's just a rumor, your parents would never forgive me if I let you in the grasp of danger."

"Are you done?" Emma asked with raised eyebrows. "August, it doesn't matter. I'm disguised and I'm certain the pirate has never seen me before, so why would he suspect a wench in a tavern to actually be the crown princess?"

"We can't take that risk."

"Regina hasn't been sighted for years. It doesn't look like he's concocting an evil plan to kill me right now-" She tipped her head towards the dark mop of hair. "- and I just want to have a good time for one evening without worrying about danger or risk. You're not taking the risk by the way, I am."

Even though the tavern was filled with people chatting loudly and drinks being raised and banged against each other, silence fell between Emma and August. He attempted to enforce a sense of authority, to prove to Emma that he knew better by giving her a certain look. It didn't work, however. No, she simply retaliated with a stare, straightening her back and stretching her neck. Defiant and regal.

Leaning back, he huffed in a discontent manner.

"Do you what you want, Princess."

It must have been the first time August called her that and the title made her uncomfortable; it incited her to get up and leave him and their corner.

Emma approached the messy table, brimming with empty bottles of alcohol and golden coins. Captain Hook sat between two other women but his eyes were focused on the table. Her hair went behind her ears as Emma kept stepping closer.

"What are you boys playing?" The question was laced with insinuation, hinting that Emma wasn't very interested in the game.

His eyes were the color of the sea. Blue eyes weren't uncommon; August had blue eyes, so did her father but somehow Hook's eyes shone so incredibly bright that Emma felt enthralled by them. That it became more difficult to look away as time progressed.

Normally it would be a very shameful thing, something to cause a light blush on her cheeks, but it didn't matter now. Because Hook was seemingly as captivated by her as she was by him.

His mouth fell open and Emma felt her grin widen with pride. The dreadful pirate, a monster according to August, couldn't even handle her.

"Dice," came out of Hook's mouth muttered.

"Can I play?"

There was no seat left at the table, both Emma and Hook realized that. She lifted one of her eyebrows towards him and widened her smirk even more.

"You heard the lady. Make some room, she wants to play," Hook ushered his companions.

As the men and women left, Emma received some dirty looks, but she frankly did not care.

"You want to play for money?" she challenged him.

"I'll have you know that I'm excellent at this game, love."

Emma shrugged. "I can try, can't I?"

What Hook wasn't aware of however were the hours she spent as a child being taught all sorts of games by August and the hours she spent practicing with her father. Emma was an excellent, you could even say exceptional, player.

Something Hook was about to be a witness of. They played several rounds and after every one, Emma was crowned winner. It didn't appear as if he felt bothered by it or the coins he kept on losing. On the contrary, he kept ordering new rum and his laugh grew louder by the minute, so did hers.

"I think your lover isn't quite pleased with you accompanying me," Hook said out of the blue, no trace of the previous amusement in his voice.

"My lover?" Emma's forehead creased.

His ringed hand motioned and her eyes followed the fleeting gesture. Her gaze landed on August, staring at his drink and sulking at the same time.

Emma laughed and Hook gave her an intrigued glance.

"He isn't my lover, more like…" Emma halted for a second to think of the right word to describe August. "My brother. He's just concerned about me."

"Oh, the pirate thing." The nod of Hook's head proved it wasn't the first time that it had happened. "Did he order you to stay away from me?"

Her shoulders went up. "I don't take orders."

"Cheers to that."

Both of their cups went into the air.

/-/

"You know who I am, yet you haven't even told me your name. I'm at a clear disadvantage, love," Hook noticed.

Emma hesitated to tell him. They had spent such a wonderful evening and she had discovered the man behind the moniker. But did that mean she could entrust him with her identity, with the secret of her cover? August's warnings kept echoing in her mind. Could she take the risk?

"What fun would that be?"

Emma could see the disappointment in Hook's features and it hurt but she couldn't take the chance that she was wrong about him.

"How am I supposed to call you then?" His brow went up with the question. "It's not like I can refer to you as the amazing, elegant blonde girl."

The adjectives surprised Emma, sent a warm feeling through her body. She was attracted to him. To his eyes, his scruff, his mouth, to the scar on his cheek, to the way he smiled. To Hook. She was attracted to one of the most ruthless pirates that roamed the seas and he thought she was amazing.

"I wouldn't mind you calling me that," Emma teased while simultaneously telling him the truth.

"I'm sure you wouldn't," he quipped back.

Suddenly, Emma became aware of the space between them. Or the non-existent space between them. They had both slid closer towards one another during their time together and were now sitting with their knees nearly against each other.

"What if you called me Swan? They're pretty amazing and elegant as well," was Emma's suggestion. "Plus swans are my favorite animal so that makes it even better."

"Swan." Hook's head tilted in consideration right before he grinned. "That works."

Emma smiled back, happy that he didn't press any further.

The grin on Hook's face vanished in a blink, instead a menacing smile appeared and for the first time, Emma saw why people were so afraid of him. His head turned towards the intruder.

"Can I help you, mate?" There was no trace of benevolence in his tone.

"I'm not here for you, mate," August spoke.

The atmosphere turned into a very tensed one, so tensed that Emma became afraid they would clash.

"We have to go," he addressed Emma who nodded in response

"Give me a second, okay?"

Before he disappeared, August boldly stared at Hook, who boldly stared back. As soon as the connection between them was broken, he transformed back into the man Emma had spent the evening.

"So, I suppose that ends our time together, Swan."

"I suppose it does," she confirmed.

There was not a piece of Emma that wanted to say goodbye to him but she had no other choice.

"You know, me and my men are planning to stay here for an additional couple of days. We might even visit this place again tomorrow."

"Good to know," Emma answered, rising from the bench.

Hook grabbed her hand, preventing her from leaving and Emma startled. A bolt of electricity ran up her arm, or so it felt. Her breathing accelerated.

"Will I see you then, love?" His eyes were beseeching her.

"I can't promise you," she chose the honest answer. "But I'll try."

He let go of her hand and Emma left the place, her chest still heaving with the intensity of the moment that just transpired between them.

/-/

"Emma, you promised it was only going to be one night."

The prospect of Emma's return to the tavern had August disgruntled with her. She understood. He had already risked a lot to get her out once, but to do that twice? It was the image of Hook waiting for her and being disappointed when she didn't show up that her brain conjured up incessantly and enlarged her desire to go.

"I know but I have to go back. Don't worry about it," she told August while her hands were quickly making a braid out of her hair. "I'll make sure you don't get into any trouble."

"This isn't about me." He shook his head in disbelief. "I'm worried about you. Emma, you are like my little sister, I can't have anything happen to you."

"And it won't. I'll be careful," she reassured him.

/-/

"I've been to so many worlds and countries I've lost count. But every single one of them is an adventure and unique." Killian's lips curled into a smile. "What about you?"

"I've been to some other kingdoms as well. One of my best friends lives in Arendelle. It's different though, I always have to work and I'm never able to discover the places I've traveled."

"And you won't tell me what you do?"

Emma shook her head with an apologetic smile.

It was becoming more and more difficult to keep her true self from Killian. It felt unfair to him. He had revealed his given name and insisted that she called him Killian. He told her stories about his life and Emma listened intently. All the while, he was still calling her Swan and he only knew vague things about her.

"That's alright, Swan. I do like a mystery."

/-/

"He's just here to protect me," Emma attempted to clarify August's constant presence, but it only made Killian more frustrated.

"From whom do you need protection, Swan? From me?" His hook pointed to his chest. "Because I thought we were past that point."

"We are," she tried to convince him. Gently, her hand stroked his cheek. "We are."

Emma felt his jaw clench beneath her fingers. His angry eyes stared in the opposite direction.

"I'm going back to my ship," Killian stated, sliding away from her and leaving the seat.

It was so void of emotion, so unlike him that her heart ached; this was all her fault. His decision sounded final.

"Please don't," she attempted to change it.

"I just can't, Swan. Not tonight."

The desperation in his voice pleaded with her to let it go. So, Emma let him go, she loosened her hold on him and let him go.

"I'm sorry." Her eyes filled with tears.

"As am I."

He belonged there, on his ship. Who was she to keep him away from his beloved ship? Killian had already put Emma above the Jolly Roger, above his piracy. The journey he had prepared to make kept on being postponed and the only reason for it was Emma. He didn't want to leave her, didn't want to stop meeting her in a dark corner of the tavern.

A dark corner that suddenly felt as filthy as she was.

/-/

His hand cradled her face, curled around her cheeks and his thumb made small circular movements on Emma's skin.

"Swan," he said, his voice gentle and soft. "I'm sorry for yesterday. I shouldn't have run off."

For the first time, Emma couldn't stand the nickname; it felt wrong and one big lie. She couldn't be Swan, the mysterious and secretive girl in the tavern who had no responsibilities and could do what she wanted. She couldn't be Swan because she was Emma, Crown Princess of the Enchanted Forest.

Selfish, that was what she was. A selfish person. Selfish towards her parents who devoted their life to the kingdom and her. Selfish towards August who only wanted to protect her and could get into trouble if her parents discovered why she kept on vanishing at night.

And most importantly, selfish towards him. Killian. God, he deserved so much more than someone playing an act, pretending to be one thing when in reality they were another. Even though Emma had never felt more herself than the last month, it remained a lie.

Emma's eyes looked away. She couldn't look at him anymore. Her eyes started pricking and soon tears formed at the rim.

"Emma," she whispered and as she closed her eyelids, a tear made its way down her cheek.

It didn't get far because Killian's hand was there to wipe it away.

"What?" he asked and Emma was unsure if he really hadn't heard her or if he simply wanted affirmation.

Emma cleared her throat and took a breath. "Emma, my name is Emma."

"Emma," Killian repeated, his lips curling as he tested out the sound.

Damn the risk that he might want his revenge, damn the risk that he might be working with Regina, damn the risk that she might be in danger. Damn everything except for Killian's happy smile, finally discovering her true name.

"It is an honor to meet you, Emma. I'm Killian," he introduced himself, as if they hadn't spent hours and hours talking and getting to know each other.

Emma hiccupped while quietly laughing and crying at the same time. It seemed to remind Killian that she was still crying because the joyous smile got replaced with worry.

"What's wrong?"

Everything. How could you tell someone absolutely everything was wrong and there was no way to fix anything. Well, there was one way, a way that would destroy them both.

"Noth- I-" Emma took a shuddering breath. "We can't do this anymore."

Killian's hand stilled.

"The Jolly should be navigating across the seas, not be stuck in some tiny port. You should be traveling, not be stuck in a claustrophobic tavern with me. I'm holding you back and I can't do that."

He shook his head.

"No, Swan- Emma. I'm not leaving you," he said as if it was some idiotic idea.

It wasn't. Emma had spent her entire Saturday thinking about it and it was the best solution to ensure both of their happiness's in the long run. If only Killian could see that.

"I'm not worth stopping your life for, Killian. You'll grow tired of staying on land."

He was going to grow tired of her.

His hand abandoned her face while he took a step back.

"I can decide that for myself," Killian declared.

His dark eyebrows were drawn together and Emma felt the urge to smooth the creased skin. But she couldn't because she was going to go through with this.

"At least one of us needs to be realistic, Killian."

"I'm quite certain that what I feel is real, Emma." He took a breath. "I love you."

Closing her eyes, Emma tried to stop more tears from forming. He loved her. She had suspected it already, but now it became a real thing. The words were uttered, out in the open; there was no way to stuff them back into their hiding place. Still, there was no stopping now.

"You don't," Emma responded without saying the words herself. "You don't even know me. Two minutes ago, you didn't even know my name."

"Because a name is everything to a person?" Killian questioned disbelievingly. "Lass, I know you better than you know yourself."

"It doesn't matter. I am leaving and I'm not coming back. So should you."

"Emma, you have to be kidding." Only now did his voice start to rise. "Did you even hear me? I love you!"

"Goodbye, Killian."

"No," Killian grabbed ahold of Emma's white sleeve. "I'm not letting you go." His own emotions started influencing his voice, making it crack.

Emma was afraid to look at him, scared of what she would see and of what she would do. Eyes directed towards the ground, she pulled her hand back.

"You have to."

Returning to the real world, Emma zigzagged through the room, avoiding the other people in the tavern. She ran straight to her friend, who was sitting at his signature spot as always.

"August, please take me away," Emma asked him, on the verge of a breakdown.

He immediately stood up, encircling his arms around her and escorting her outside. There were no questions being asked, the only thing that mattered to him was getting her home. Emma's tears streamed down like a river on her crumpled face.

/-/

For the first Wednesday in a long time, Emma wasn't in throne room listening to the people, she was laying in bed softly crying against her sheets that smelled like violets.

Her father had visited her with the question of why she was not up yet but understood from the muffled sobs that Emma wasn't in any state to listen to other people's problems. The bed dipped down as he sat down next to her. There were no words coming out of her, only attempts that turned into bawling. Her father tried, though. After soothing her and giving her a kiss on the head, he promised there was nothing to worry about, he would take over. Eventually, Emma did manage to whisper a thank you.

The door opened, a creaky sound accompanying the movement. Wiping away the most recent tears, Emma sat up. She probably looked like a mess, eyes red, skin blotchy, as if she had been crying for hours, which she had admittedly.

August closed the door behind him and turned back to her, taking in that said mess.

"Oh, Em," he sighed when he realized how badly she was doing. "Your mother asked me what is wrong with you but I didn't know what to answer."

Emma sniffed her nose. "Neither do I. My Dad came by but the only thing I could do was cry," she confessed.

A chair stood under her desk and August walked over to the wooden table, grabbing the chair and moving it next to the Queen-sized bed. Emma shifted in her sheets to sit in a more comfortable way, wrapping the blanket around her like a cozy shelter. She felt August's blue eyes perusing her face and coming to a conclusion.

"It's him, isn't it."

In confirmation, her head moved up and downwards. There was no need to pronounce his name; it was quite evident who the person in question was.

"I told him it had to stop," Emma elaborated, revealing at last what had caused her so much heartbreak. "He belongs on his ship, traveling the sea. I was holding him back, that was clear. I stopped going."

August pulled his brows together and squinted his eyes, a look Emma recognized as his confused face.

"Emma," he commenced, "it's been four days since our last visit to the tavern. Why are you breaking down now? If you had known that he was gone all along." August leaned closer.

Because she was sure of it at first. Emma was persuaded letting him go was the right choice. Then one night without him passed and the longing to see him emerged. The next evening lacked rum and his laugh and the way he called her love. Yesterday, she caved in.

"I went back."

"You went back?" was August's incredulous reaction.

"I went back," she admitted, partially hiding her face behind the sheet. "I missed him, so I went and I don't know what I was expecting but he wasn't there."

The baker's daughter's clothes were still lying under her bed, the passageway she and August took every time still hadn't been discovered. She had done this more than a dozen times before, why should she not be able to do it on her own? Emma had left in the middle of the night and had moved towards the tavern. The familiar scent had greeted her as she went to their spot.

"Obviously he wasn't there, I told him to go." The disappointment she felt upon discovering the table was empty resurfaced together with the tears.

"You regret it," her friend noticed.

"So much. Hold could I have been so stupid?" Her hand angrily brushed away the fallen tears. "I guess you only realize what you have once you've lost it. "

"What have you lost?"

"Love," she sighed. "Killian."

Saying it to someone else and out loud, the two words combined made the realization crash down; the loss smothered Emma.

"I royally fucked up, August."

Sensing Emma's need for a friend, August left the chair and sat down next to her. His open arms invited her for one of his big brother hugs and she accepted.

"Everything will be alright, Em."

But it wouldn't.

/-/

"Thank you, Johanna." Emma smiled when the sturdy, redheaded woman finished lighting the candles in the bedchamber. "That will be all."

Her old nanny curtsied. "I'll see you bright and early tomorrow," she said chipperly.

Emma cringed her face, expressing her distaste of waking before dawn.

"Bright and late tomorrow would be fine too, you know."

Johanna gave her a faux disapproving look, widening Emma's grin.

"Goodnight, Princess," the servant wished.

"Goodnight to you too, Johanna," Emma wished back.

There was a light thud as the door closed and Emma sighed as it did. She had forgotten how scarce alone time was and how much her public act required. Her muscles ached, looking for a remedy she rolled her neck and stretched her back. It didn't help, however. She wrapped her coat a bit tighter against the cold.

"I have to hand it to you, Swan. You were hiding some secret."

Emma's heart skipped a beat; the sudden new voice in the previously empty room frightened her to death. She was about to scream for help, yell that she was being attacked by an intruder, but then she realized he had called her Swan. There was only one person who would call her that. Only one.

"Killian," Emma gasped when she turned around.

He had his coat and hook, the rings on his fingers, the earring in his and his eternal smirk gracing his lips. Everything one needed to be Killian.

"Did you miss me?"

Emma had missed him so much the last couple of days. But she had also wanted him so much, she became afraid that he was only a figment of her imagination. It had to be him. Really be him.

"How did you get here?" Emma questioned.

"Your friend- "he answered with a strange intonation, "-told me where you were and showed me the way in."

August had managed to find him? And had sent Killian to her?

"I thought you left."

There was a long distance between them, between Emma standing next to her bed and him standing near the bed. Killian reduced the space between them.

"If I recall correctly, you are the one who left, darling," Killian said with a raised eyebrow.

Worry commanded Emma's teeth to make a dent in her lower lip.

"I'm sorry."

Killian was still stepping closer and only stopped when he was close enough to touch her. Hesitantly, not aware of how far he could go, his hand brushed the apple of her cheek. Emma's breathing halted.

"We've all been afraid, Emma. Though there is nothing to be afraid of here."

Before she thought Killian looked the same but up close, she noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the crease above his brows and the fear in his eyes.

"If you left because you were afraid of me, I want you to know that I'm not working with Regina anymore, I haven't for years. And my revenge, well, I gave that up when you returned on that second night."

Emma saw Killian's vulnerability in the sparsely lit room; somehow all of their moments together featured candles and darkness.

Covering his hand with her own, Emma replied, "It wasn't because of that."

"Then why did you leave me?" Killian's hurt resonated with Emma.

It was the same question Emma asked herself over and over. Why did you leave him? If he wanted to be with you? If he loved you? Why?

"I was afraid. Of what this might mean. And that I wasn't going to be enough for you," Emma finally voiced her fears.

"How? Swan, you're an actual princess and I'm a lowlife pirate."

Hearing Killian say those words about himself made Emma insist on proving him wrong, but she could only think of one argument.

"You're not. I love you," she told him. "So much."

The happiness in Killian's eyes lit up the room, darkness be damned. His lips crashed against hers and Emma immediately reciprocated by kissing him back fervently.

"I love you so bloody much."

For the next couple of hours, they were both content with watching one another. They lay face to face in Emma's bed, the joy radiating from both of their faces.

"I searched everywhere for you," Killian whispered, his hand still caressing her face. "I went back the first night, but you weren't there, so I searched. I must have traveled through the entire kingdom, but no trace of mysterious Emma. Had I known you were here." he chuckled. Thankfully August found the Jolly and left a message with my crew. I came here as quickly as I could. We may have started off on the wrong foot but I am in debt to him for helping me find you."

"We both are."

Emma moved her head, rubbing their noses together and chasing Killian's lips before sitting upright. Her hands wove her loose blonde tresses into a braid.

"What will happen in the morning?" Killian wanted to know.

Tenderly, Emma held his face between her palms.

"We don't need to worry about that," she promised before kissing his cheek.

"Your parents are not going to be pleased with a pirate courting their daughter."

Her parents' love story was not the most ordinary one, nor was her father the most suitable marriage candidate for her mother. None of that mattered, however, because the two of them fell in love and couldn't imagine being apart. Exactly how Emma felt about Killian?

"Knowing my parents, they'll be happy I found love," Emma told him.

"Even if it is with me?" He still wasn't sure if he was worthy of her, but Emma was going to persuade him. Even if it took her the rest of her life.

One by one, the light of the candles extinguished.

"True love is worth fighting for, Killian and that is exactly what I am planning to do."

The last candle's flame quivered and with one whiff of air, Emma engulfed the room in darkness.


	12. life with(out) you

**A/N: A birthday present to the-reason-to-sail-home (or Tessa as I like to call her) inspired by the AU songlyrics I wrote and she is now turning into a real song. Hope you enjoy and don't forget to let me know what you thought of it! Happy New Year!**

* * *

He strummed down, the movement and eliciting a growing anticipation among the dark space. The notes quivered through the room and the crowd became silent. Their ears listened to every sound, their eyes followed his every movement. The spot turned brighter and there was a slight yelping as he stepped into the light. The bass surged, the drums joined.

"We love you, Killian!" A woman's voice yelled.

"And I love you too," he said as seductively as possible, wrapping his accent over every syllable and causing more shrieking.

Start with a more famous single to hook them, then play some lesser known songs to please the seasoned fans, perform a medley of old material, follow it by a recent song and another one. Talk about the opening act and how great they were even though nobody actually cared. Small break to make them even more desperate for that one song and then surprise everyone by returning.

The sweat trickled down his forehead, he took a sip of water to shower his dry throat before reading the next scheduled song off the setlist and starting a new melody.

He kept the interludes to a minimum, choosing music over talking, but his audience didn't seem bothered by that. A pause to let them sing the words they clearly knew by heart and then he took over again. One hour and forty minutes flew by, entranced by the music and clapping.

"This has been my favorite concert ever," his voice spread through the arena as he told the generic lie he used in every venue, every city he performed. Going by the screaming and applause that followed, they bought it yet again. "Hope to see you soon and don't forget to buy my album 'Crash'"

It was time for the bang.

"I'm telling you I've had enough. Pack your bags and just fuck off," he sang before beginning to vehemently strike the chords of his electric guitar.

The featureless people lost it, started jumping up and down and loudly singing along after hearing those iconic first words, the words that had probably prompted a lot of them to buy the ticket for his concert. This song was the reason they were here today. This song was the reason he was here today.

He had long time fans; those who came when he debuted with an acoustic guitar on the streets of London and stayed after he went rock. And then you had the new fans. Some actually liked his music and bought his album, others fawned over his looks and accent. He didn't care about the shallowness because in the end, he was the one who got the paycheck.

Life as a rock star was pretty fucking great. Life as Killian Jones was even fucking better.

He left the stage and made his way towards his lounge. A bottle of nice rum stood on one of the tables with glasses next to it. Killian grinned and let himself fall into the black couch. The brown liquor oozed into the clear glass, the flow only stopping when it was generously filled. In one go, the drink disappeared into his mouth and he moved to pour another one. He just had a good concert, the final one of the bunch, why shouldn't he celebrate?

The door of his dressing room opened and Tink walked in, her eyes spotting the half empty bottle of rum and sighing in response.

"So," Killian started. He didn't bother to sit up. "How amazing was I?"

His manager rolled her eyes. It wasn't his fault that he was indeed amazing and had no intentions of denying it. There was no use for false modesty. That wasn't how he worked. Tonight had been one of his best gigs yet and they both knew it.

"You were fine."

And yet, Tink still chose to downplay it.

"Maybe I should find myself a manager who is more appreciative of me," he threatened, the alcohol making him more audacious.

"And maybe I should find an artist who is less of a dick," Tink retorted.

Even though it did not seem like it at the moment, he really was grateful for Tink, for her managing expertise and her friendship and advice. They had worked together for a while now, ever since he got signed to his label and needed someone to support him. So Killian called the number scribbled on a piece of paper that ended up in his guitar suitcase one day; he had debated for a long time whether he would keep it or throw it in the thrash. At least one right choice he made.

"Good one." Killian grinned with pride.

Tink stepped closer to the couch.

"Get up."

When Killian didn't move an inch, kept on lying with his hands behind his head and his feet propped on the armrest, a growl came from her. Look-wise, Tink was one of the least menacing people he knew. She was small, always wore some shade of green and had her blonde hair twisted in a bun. Character-wise, however, the woman could definitely hold her own.

In the midst of his moment of relaxation, a pair of hands unexpectedly grabbed him. Tink must have been closer than he thought. With all of her force, she pulled him upwards and pushed him back in the couch again, concussing his entire body.

"Tink, bloody hell!" he exclaimed.

He knew he was being a pain in the ass, but that didn't mean his manager could retort to actual physical violence.

"Get up, I said," she commanded with wide eyes. "There's a reporter waiting to interview you."

"You couldn't have said that earlier?" He sat straight, ran his hands through his hair to make it look like his usual controlled mess.

"Because I didn't already tell you thrice in the last three hours?" One of her eyebrows rose, making Killian frown as he thought back.

The memory of Tink informing him about the important Rolling Stone interview became sharp again in his blurry brain. She did tell him. Several times.

"Sorry."

"Uhuh. Behave, please." She turned towards the door and opened it slightly, addressing the person who stood on the other side.

"Miss Swan? He's ready for you now." There was kindness and politeness in Tink's voice, even a trace of respect, something Killian hadn't heard in months. Somehow this reporter had earned more in ten minutes than he had after years.

Miss Swan entered and completely lived up to her name. The tinge of sadness inside of Killian disappeared when he took in her tight jeans and red leather jacket. Her eyes were a challenging green. Something told him he would certainly enjoy this interview.

Tink left the room but not before sending him a warning look, silently repeating the words she said earlier.

"Emma Swan." The journalist extended her hand and smiled. "I'm with Rolling Stone Magazine."

"Killian Jones," he introduced himself even though he didn't have to, accepting her hand and keeping the warm palm in his slightly longer than necessary.

"Want something to drink?" He had a good bottle of rum here, might as well share it with her. "Some rum perhaps?"

She shook her head, bringing her blonde curls into motion.

"No, thank you," Swan politely refused.

"Your loss." Killian shrugged while getting himself another round. He motioned towards the couch, an invitation for her to sit down, which she did. After a large swig of rum, he transferred his focus onto her.

There was a small notebook in her hand and she opened it. Killian could see all of her scribbles but couldn't make anything of them. They were intangible upside down and he suspected that he would struggle with her rushed font even if they were the right side up.

"Mr. Jones," she commenced after she switched on the recorder on her phone. "Your new album 'Crash' sounds drastically different from your earlier songs in 'Seaside'. Is there a reason for this reinvention?"

Of all questions she possibly could have asked, she started with that one. The only question he didn't want to answer. Killian couldn't tell her that, though. He couldn't simply say no comment and move on. Her kind –journalists, reporters, paparazzi and what not– were vultures. You revealed something, said one thing and they wouldn't stop digging until they found the rest.

"Mr. Jones?" Swan spoke when he still hadn't answered her question.

"I don't particularly feel like answering questions right now. I feel like going out. What do you say, love?"

"Excuse me?" It appeared that she was taken aback by his sudden proposition.

There was a shift in Killian's attitude. His neutral expression became a smirk, he lifted a bold eyebrow; bravado controlled his every move. Ignoring any sense of personal space, he slid closer to her. He was literally and figuratively crossing the line, but he didn't care. As long as he could avoid answering the question.

"You, me, some liquor," his tone dropped to a low rumble. "Do I need to make things clearer?"

With revulsion on her face, Emma got up, leaving Killian alone on the sofa. Her feet took her a few steps away from him, her chest heaved. He couldn't tell if it was because of the intensity or the anger she felt. Perhaps a mixture of the two.

"Who do you think you are?" she questioned, shaking her head in shock.

"I think you're aware of that seeing that you are in my lounge, interviewing me."

Killian knew what she meant by the question, but decided to avoid the confrontation with his own behavior for a while.

"Doesn't mean you can't have some basic, decent respect." Her words grew louder, her scowl angrier.

"I do. I swear," Killian promised her, playing innocent when he was undoubtedly guilty of everything she was accusing him of. "I would worship you if only you would let me."

"God." Disgust. Disgusting. Disgusted by him. "Why are you some petty man trying to be a rock star?"

"I would scratch the trying to be, darling," he said unimpressed. "Because I already am."

He was Killian Jones. He was famous. He had golden records. He had a completely sold out tour. He was a dashing rapscallion. He was a rock star.

"The only thing you are is fucking pathetic, Killian Jones," she yelled, retrieving her notebook and phone. "And I don't care if I'm being unprofessional because there was nothing professional about your conduct to begin with."

She all but ran to the door, swung it open and closed it with a bang. It was over.

He was despicable.

It took Tink one minute to come bursting through the door.

"You have to be fucking kidding me, Jones! Why did the Rolling Stone reporter look like she was ready to kill you?"

"We had a professional disagreement." Killian smiled with snide.

"You are going to fix this." She pressed her index into his chest, the nail creating a dent in his skin. "I've had it with your terrible behavior. You want to be a rock star, fine. You want to be a sex symbol, fine again. But you stay away from journalists who are here to review your show, who I invited to finally give you some good press in a prestigious magazine instead of some gossip booklet. Journalists who are now probably going to write a two-page exposé about what an actual perverted dick Killian Jones is, scaring away any potential of a third album."

The room became silent as both Tink and he recovered from her rant. He fucked up. He jeopardized not only his career and life but hers as well. The only person he cared about. All because he let the alcohol reign again. Because if he wasn't drunk, there was no chance of keeping up this act and he had to; he didn't want to reveal the empty person behind it.

"I'll call the magazine," he mumbled to the floor, hands in his hair.

"Do you for one second think that's going to do it?" Tink spoke with disbelief.

"What do you suggest then?"

"Find Emma Swan. Apologize. Make sure she never writes about this," she enumerated them one by one. "Fucking fix yourself, Killian, because I'm sick of it."

-/-

Leroy picked him up from his apartment as per Tink's instructions. It was way too early for his taste, his body still functioned by the tour schedule; sleep in, perform late, drink and party, sleep in. It would take some time get used to life again. He needed to accustom to going to bed early and getting up before noon. He had to adjust to his own bed again instead of the same generic room in some hotel. He had to learn to be alone again.

His chauffeur drove him to the Rolling Stone HQ, maneuvering through the New York streets.

Killian hadn't even thought about what approach he would use nor had he figured out what to say to her. Before he could, Leroy parked, announcing that they had arrived.

He let out a sigh and covered his head with the dark hood of his sweater. In a crowded city like New York, the odds that he would be recognized were huge and once he got stopped and asked for an autograph or selfie, there was no end to it.

Keeping his head low, Killian walked towards the entrance. Introduce yourself at the reception, ask for Emma Swan. Listen to the directions, go to her office, apologize and leave again.

Easier said than done.

"What are you doing here?" Emma asked, arms crossed and standing in front of the elevator he stepped out of. The front desk must have notified her of his presence because she was clearly awaiting his arrival. "Is stalking a part of you m.o. too?"

"I'm not a stalker, I'm only here to invite you to dinner," Killian explained.

"And I should accept why?"

"Because I want to apologize." was his answer. Emma raised a skeptical eyebrow. He combed through his hair. "Because I'm being forced by my manager and I'm as unwilling to spend an evening in your company as you dread spending it with me," Killian replied earnestly.

"No." Her green eyes narrowed as she replied.

Another journalist passed them, a worried look in his eyes as they moved between Emma and the guy standing with a hoodie over his head. He slowed down, but she reassured him with a small smile. The curly brown haired man continued reluctantly.

"Come on, lass. Please," he begged and he usually never begged. Emma seemed to realize how rare this moment was. If she stared any harder, she would have drilled a hole in his head, but he didn't mind. He understood what it was. An attempt to read him, to figure out if he wasn't the perverted dick she encountered yesterday. She needed to know if the risk was worth taking.

"It's quite empowering to have you standing here, begging because you're so afraid. You're taking me to the fanciest and classiest restaurant in town," she began, having made up her mind. "I get to order whatever I want, at your expense. And if you prove not to be a pathetic excuse of a man, only then will I change the article."

"Fine."

"Fine," Emma repeated. "Now if you'd be so decent to leave. Some people actually have to work."

If she was implying Killian didn't work, he'd have to prove her wrong. He worked, alright. He spent days and nights composing relentlessly, practically living in the studio, throwing nearly finished songs into the trash because they were boring, not fitting. After the album came the tour which needed a concept, a setting, a thread to tie everything together. Hours he devoted to the right feel and song sequence. It wasn't because he had a different schedule that that automatically meant he didn't work.

"Aye, some," he bit back. "Wear something nice will you."

"I do whatever the fuck I want."

With that sentence, she ended their interaction, disappearing behind the partially see-through door that lead to her work space. What about the specifics of their little show? How was he supposed to contact Emma to inform her of those specifics? Killian cursed under his breath.

They were playing on her terms, but he had no way of turning things around, of taking over control. Emma knew how desperate he was. He was going to have to make an effort to prevent her from ruining his career and she was taking advantage of that. Clever lass.

-/-

"The goal is to convince me that you're not a creep and you are frankly doing a poor job," Emma spoke. "How did you get my number?"

Killian's doorbell rang and he stood up from his couch and walked towards the door.

"I know people," he said shortly.

His door opened and revealed the deliverer. The man handed him a plastic bag announcing his meal would cost him twelve dollars.

"Elaborate," she ordered when the call became a soft buzzing with an occasional breath rather than his answer.

His phone was stuck between his ear and shoulder. Killian reached into his pocket to take some money, generously tipping the young man. He received a thankful, partially amazed smile in return.

"Jones. Elaborate."

His now empty hand released his phone from the crushing death grip and held it against his ear anew.

"Sorry," Killian apologized. "I had to get my food."

"Let me guess: oyster in a truffle, lobster sauce with a dessert of golden soufflés," her American accent vanished and was replaced by an imitation of a French one, conveying the image of a French maître d'. Killian chuckled. The fact that this was the first time there was any sort of humor between them didn't go unnoticed.

"No, Thai actually. I tried the golden soufflés and my teeth didn't particularly like those."

"How did you get my number?" she asked again, but this time her voice was softer, some of the tension gone with the jokes.

"Apparently my manager knows your brother's wife's stepmother?" His mind hopped over all the connections to make sure he was telling her the right thing. "I think that's it."

"Of course." A sigh followed.

"It's a small world," Killian said while unwrapping his food. "And New York definitely."

"They don't even live in New York."

A desire to ask her where they lived, where she came from rose, but he didn't. This wasn't what this was about. They weren't friends or anything that remotely resembled not hating each other. He had called to ask her when their obligatory dinner was, when exactly he should expect the torture to take place.

"You failed to mention why exactly you're calling me." Emma sounded tensed again, like she had just realized the same thing he did.

"Dinner this Saturday?" It shouldn't seem like he was looking forward to it.

"Alright," she agreed.

"I'll come and pick you up."

"You mean your driver will?"

For someone who interviewed musicians for a famous magazine, she was quite appalled by money and luxury.

"Semantics."

"I honestly don't want you anywhere near where I live," she told him.

Killian stood right back where he started at the beginning of this phone call but perhaps it was better like this.

"Then how do you suppose we do it?" he questioned.

"You could tell me where we're going."

The place they were going was yet to be defined. She wanted somewhere expensive, he wanted a place that served actual food in lieu of microscopical portions of puréed cabbage. It was quite an advantage to be famous. You simply dropped the name bomb and voila, there was a vacant table waiting for you.

"You could also trust me," was his suggestion.

"Hmmm, past experiences have not indicated that," Emma refused, almost making him huff in frustration.

"What about your work? Is that an adequate safe zone for you?" It was a question meant to mock her exaggeration.

"It is a familiar environment with people I know. In other words, perfect."

"Saturday 7 pm at Rolling Stone HQ it is then," Killian repeated to ensure all the details were clear.

"Fine," she agreed.

"Fine."

They were reiterating, but somehow their conversations always ended with them clashing and in an impasse. Why was he doing this again?

Because he was an asshole and he owed it to Tink.

-/-

She opened the door of the black car and got in. Killian tried not to stare but was miserably failing. Gone were the jeans and instead she was dressed in a pink dress. Her hair wasn't in her natural curls anymore but was styled in a classy ponytail. He asked her to wear something nice and she did.

"Before you say anything." Emma turned to him. "Remember why exactly you're taking me to dinner and that this is not a date. And that I didn't dress up because you told me," she quickly added. "I didn't want to stand out."

"I will, Swan," he promised, "If it isn't offensive to you, I'd like to tell you look very stunning."

"It isn't, thank you," she replied nonchalantly, but Killian noticed the light blush coloring her cheeks, however. She was affected by him.

The ride to the restaurant remained quiet but not uncomfortably so. It felt good to not be forced to find a topic and end up talking about the weather or some other triviality. Either way, Killian had no idea what he could discuss with her; he had the impression anything would send her running.

He sensed the car was slowing down, reaching their destination. Eventually, he had settled for a French place, somewhat inspired by her little show on the phone earlier that week and because it did imply quality and finesse.

"We're here," Leroy said, causing Emma to look up startled.

Her gaze moved to him and he could distinguish the nerves. He couldn't determine the cause, however. Maybe she was having second thoughts, he sure was. It wasn't as if this dinner had a lot of perks. He would have apologized, yes, but what if they both end up screaming at each other, causing a scene?

"Don't feel obligated to stay," he assured her. "You can leave whenever you want to go away."

Emma snorted and Killian furrowed his brow. There was nothing comical about him ensuring her comfort.

"Did you just rhyme?" A rhetorical question that helped him to find out her source of amusement.

"Aye, but not on purpose." Killian scratched behind his ear while defending himself. "I do it subconsciously sometimes."

This was what writing two albums containing twenty-one rhyming songs did to a person. His mind automatically searched for a poetic complement of every sentence and his mouth occasionally felt the need to share those.

She flashed her teeth in a smile, the first genuine one he had received in the week they had known each other. He ignored the small jump of his heart, pretended it was a mere coincidence that it happened at the same, exact moment.

"Songwriter genes," she said, the smile still on her lips.

"I suppose." He lightly raised his shoulders.

"Shall we go inside?"

There was no trace of her previous hesitance anymore, instead, there was something akin enthusiasm. Impossible. It had to be a mistake. He most likely misread her. Why would she be excited about a forced dinner?

Leroy came to open her door and she stepped out. Killian let himself out of the car and joined her at the other side of the vehicle. His hand instinctively drifted to her back, but he refrained himself from touching her. This wasn't a date.

They walked inside and were welcomed by a host. Killian didn't even need to mention his name; they were immediately led to a secluded table in a corner of the room. Emma smoothed the pink fabric of her dress before sitting down. When she was seated, her look wandered through the restaurant, taking in the other guests, the design, the little lights that hung on the walls.

"Does it get the Emma Swan stamp of approval?"

"It does. Well done," she complimented him.

A waiter came to take their orders, rattling off a list of weekly specials and recommendations of the chef that all included one ingredient Killian had never heard of.

"What does macerate even mean?" Emma questioned when they had placed their orders and the waiter went to fetch their drinks.

"Something a restaurant that charges two hundred dollars per plate might say."

"Holy shit," she loudly cursed, earning a few displeased looks from other diners. "That is a lot of money."

"And that's excluding drinks. You did say the most expensive, Swan," Killian reminded her of her own words.

If he didn't pick this one, he risked her publishing the article disregarding all of his efforts.

"That's true." Emma took a sip of her glass of wine. "But you are a golden record artist with a number one hit, so I guess you can afford it."

"And you know all of that because?" His eyebrow went up. "I think we can pinpoint our stalker."

"I needed to write a piece about you. And like any good journalist, I did my research," she argued to protect her dignity.

"Of course, Swan. If you say so." Killian nodded with a smirk.

They talked. They talked without insulting one another. They talked about their lives, about music and writing. It surprised him how much they found to talk about. He was expecting some frigid conversation, a lot of sarcasm and eye rolling, but that didn't happen. Hadn't happened in the three hours they were sitting here. His expectations were not met. This wasn't part of the plan.

"I'd like to apologize," Emma said after the waiter had cleared their dessert plates.

"You?" Killian frowned while attempting to come up with a reason she should atone. "Surely I'm the one to blame for all of this."

"I did kind of blackmail you to get free expensive food which isn't really ethical either." Emma grimaced.

"I don't mind." He shook his head. "My sincerest apologies, Swan, for being a complete arsehole."

"It's alright." She shrugged. "Certainly isn't the first time something like that had happened."

Her comment was said so casually, so hopelessly that Killian's disgust towards himself increased. He wanted to ask who and where and when. He didn't. He wanted to tell her she deserved more. He didn't. Instead, he called the waiter to pay the bill.

"I know you don't want me close to your home, but can Leroy drop you off after driving me to my place?" Killian asked.

"Killian, it's fine," she replied, standing up. "You can drive me home. I was exaggerating before."

"Great."

They bid their waiter goodnight and walked outside. Perfectly timed, Leroy approached with the car. This time, Killian unlocked the door for her and she softly smiled as she got in. It closed with a thud and Killian stood immobile for a second. His chest expanded when he took a deep breath of the evening air. With quick steps, he circled the car and got in.

Emma shared her address with Leroy and he inserted it into the GPS before driving them to her home. Killian's eyes were glued to the window, watching the flashing lights. Something hung in the air, it spread through the car. The silence that was comfortable before, pleasant and warm, now burned. The feeling became so overwhelming that he cautiously gazed at her, to see if she was oblivious to what he was experiencing, if it was all in his head. As he did, her green irises were directed at him as well. They mirrored him. A mutual gravitation, too powerful to resist. Killian still tried, however, tearing the bond by staring out the window again.

They stopped at what Kilian assumed was Emma's home. It would be rude to keep ignoring her, let her leave without saying goodbye. He had to acknowledge her. Preparing for that intense sensation again, he yielded.

Had she been this close before? Because they were close. So close that their noses nearly touched, so close that Killian could feel Emma's breath on his cheek, so close that he could touch her face and brush that rogue strand of hair away.

"I should go," she breathed.

"You should," he agreed.

But no one moved, no one broke their proximity. They remained close. It was like a contest to see who would give up first. Or who would give in first.

She glanced at his lips and that was all it took. The small distance was closed as he pressed his mouth against hers. Emma immediately kissed him back, locking her arms behind his neck and pulling him closer. Not part of the plan, but at this point, he could not care less.

-/-

"Killian. Killian. Killian!" Tink snapped her fingers to get his attention. It worked, his moment of daydreaming over.

"Yes?" he responded, lightly shaking his head to completely return.

"How was it?"

She sat down in the chair across, crossing her legs as she did. Killian had been summoned this morning and even though Tink insisted he needed to be there right away, he waited in her office for at least half an hour.

"You are going to need to be more specific, Tink." Shifting in his chair, he sat up a bit straighter.

"The dinner," she helped. "With Emma Swan. Did she agree not to print the article?"

"Oh."

It had been more than one full day since the dinner with Emma Swan and he could honestly say that he had not recovered yet. He didn't think he ever would.

His manager lowered her eyebrows, trying to scan his mind. Something on his face must have given away his thoughts. "Please tell me you didn't sleep together," Tink requested. Killian might even call it begging.

"We didn't." Her nonverbal response was incredulous; it screamed that she didn't believe him. "Tink, I swear. We kissed but we didn't sleep together."

But how he wanted it. How he wanted to tell Leroy to drive to his place, how he wanted Emma to invite him into hers. How he wanted things to go further. He wanted her. Killian couldn't even figure out when that had happened, when their association had been altered from moderately tolerating each other to majorly making out in his car. If he understood that, a lot would become clear.

"You only kissed?" Tink appeared to be pleasantly surprised, which only confused Killian even more.

He slowly nodded.

"You're freaking out, aren't you?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"I wouldn't put it like that but yes." A sigh escaped. "It's been a while, you know."

"I know."

He was receiving empathy. From Tink. That had been a while ago as well. In the end, she was the person to know him the best; Tink knew what he had been through and was there to support him. It was all his fault, of his ingratitude and rum induced attitude, that they clashed.

"It's far too premature for feelings," Killian admitted to her, simultaneously admitting those feelings.

"But you do feel them." Her hazel eyes shone with warmth.

"I do."

"Ask her out," she advised. "For real this time. This will do you good, I'm sure of it." Her arm reached over the coffee table, squeezing his arm. "It already has. You were here on time. Without a hangover."

She spoke as if it was a miracle and considering his behavior the last year or two, he supposed that it might be one.

Killian was going to ask her out and she hopefully would say yes and they'd go out again and talk some more and assumably kiss again. It sounded unbelievably alluring.

-/-

 _Emma: I had a great time tonight_

 _Killian: So did I  
Killian: Look I know we've only been on two dates, but…_

 _Emma: Killian Jones, are you asking me to go steady?_

 _Killian: …I feel like there's something here.  
Killian: Would you be alright with that?_

 _Emma: Yes!  
Emma: I've always wanted a rock star boyfriend._

 _Killian: Oi, if that's the only reason_

 _Emma: It isn't the only. Your looks too._

 _Killian: I feel reassured_

 _Emma: All joking aside. I'd love to, Killian._

 _Killian: I can now officially change your name into 'Emma_ _'_

 _Emma: Wait, it wasn't that already? I feel hurt._

 _Killian: It was Swan before if that makes you feel better._

 _Emma: It does.  
Emma: I should probably go to sleep. I have work in the morning_

 _Killian: Alright, good night, Swan_

 _Emma: Night, Killian x_

 _-/-_

Life with a girlfriend with pretty great, life with Emma Swan was even better.

Killian had invited her to a concert downtown and she had eagerly agreed. They went and swayed to the music, their fingers intertwined. They didn't kiss, only because they didn't want to be that corny couple you had at every concert, blocking everyone's view while intensely swallowing each other. Enjoying the music and each other's company, that was what was important.

They were interrupted a few times by women who wanted a picture with him, but Emma wasn't bothered. She simply stepped aside and let them snap a pic. Luckily, only a few actually approached them. This shouldn't be about him, but about the band performing tonight. The show ended with applause and they left the venue.

"They were really good. Especially the singer, she was incredible."

"I agree," Emma said. "I'm going to ask my boss if I can write something about them and post it on the website."

Killian had sent Leroy home, assuring him that he would be fine going by foot. His driver had conceded, wishing both of them a good night, before driving home. He forgot how it felt to not be recognized everywhere. During the day that would have been practically impossible, but the night brought anonymity, turning him into an ordinary guy having an evening walk with his girlfriend.

Even though they meandered over the street, slowly and not rushed, Emma's apartment quickly came into sight. It had been a great night and the end was now near. Sadly enough.

"You want to come up?"

His heart screamed yes, louder with every thud, but his mind, ever the rational one, hesitated. He had no illusions. If he went up, it would lead to both of them naked in her bed. Wasn't it too soon. Wouldn't it ruin things?

Emma kissed his cheek, her lips grazing the corner of his. Killian's mind caved in. He was only human and he certainly couldn't resist her.

Placing both of his hands on her cold cheeks, he determinedly nodded.

-/-

Killian awoke, slowly blinking his eyes to get rid of the sleep. The disorientation vanished as he saw her gray sheets and her brown bedside table, the white lamp that stood on it. Moments of yesterday cascaded back into his memory. Their lips crashing into each other, their clothes flying across the room, Emma's giggles. Closing his eyes again, he smiled.

Emma was still in a deep sleep as he turned towards her. He couldn't help but stare, she looked ethereal. The light that filtered through her curtain fell on her skin, illuminating the pale complexion of her relaxed face. Killian wanted to caress her, to gently brush her cheek with his thumb, but he resisted. Her back was completely bare, the sheet pooled around her waist. Lifting it, he shielded her from the cold a bit more.

She suddenly stirred, taking in a deep breath and slowly letting it out again. One green eye opened and the other one followed. They focused on him, her lips slightly curling.

"Morning," she whispered, a husky edge to her voice.

"Morning," he replied.

He still had the urge to pull her closer, to hold her in his arms as close as he could.

She lifted her hand and it ended up on his scruffed cheek. He covered it with his own, moving hers to his mouth to delicately kiss it.

"How come you're so different?" she asked.

"From what?" Killian tilted his head.

"Things I read, the things I hear. From that first night."

Killian pondered for a moment. Emma was asking a valid question; a question he had asked himself multiple times. The answer had always been buried in the back of his head, but he never quite felt ready to unravel it. After last night, he was.

"Don't you know, Emma?" He paused to breathe. "It's you."

Covering her mouth, she yawned before her brow crinkled adorably in bewilderment.

"Me?"

Perhaps it was too early to tell her this. He should have waited until she was up, a cup of coffee between her palms to give her that morning start. Beginning this, meant finishing it as well, however, and it was time to do so.

Killian hummed. "You make me serene. Unlike anyone I've ever seen."

"You're rhyming again," she noticed while quietly laughing.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize." She moved her head on the pillow. "It's cute."

"You do make me calm."

"But how do parties and flings have anything to do with that?"

"You're asking questions again," Killian observed in return.

"Sorry. Journalist habit," she apologized.

"Well," he began. "I drank a lot to ease my pain, to quiet my thoughts and drinking alone felt pathetic, so I drank with women. I don't anymore, not since our first dinner."

It was Emma who moved her body closer to his. Her head ended up on his chest, her ear over his heart and her hair covering his shoulder. Warmth bloomed as she pressed her lips against his skin. It stayed quiet and he became afraid Emma had fallen asleep again; now that he had shared a small fragment, the rest wanted to be revealed too.

"My brother died."

Her locks tickled him while she moved to see him better.

"What?"

"You asked me the first time we met why my music had changed." Emma showed him she remembered and he continued. "My brother died and my girlfriend cheated on me afterwards. Which was also the reason for the change in behavior, the change in music."

He had thought that his heart was already broken when Liam died. At least he had her, he had thought. At least he had Milah to support him. Never in a million years had he expected Milah to leave him too, but voluntarily this time. Only because the love for her husband had rekindled. Those cracks in his heart turned into a thousand pieces. And the only thing that seemed to temporarily glue them together was music and rum.

"Tell me about him."

"His name was Liam and he was my biggest fan. Bought me my first guitar, drove me to gigs in local pubs. He was the one who encouraged me to move here. I was busy trying to write my second album and that's when he died." A shiver ran through him. Emma cuddled him even more, to give him heat or to give him comfort. "I wanted to quit, you know."

"Quit what?"

"Music," he answered. "I didn't however. I persevered and became a man that would've disappointed Liam so much. I think about stopping every day."

Killian spoke with loathing about himself but it was the truth. How many times did Liam tell him to have good form, to respect people? And how many times did he completely ignore that piece of wisdom?

"Your brother was your hero, the best man you knew," Emma paraphrased.

"He was," he confirmed.

"Then continue to honor him. Continue to be the man you are right now." Emma sat up, using the gray blanket to cover herself. "I listened to 'Crash' and it was raw and filled with hurt. There weren't any euphemisms for the things that you felt. It was real. Like you are. You shouldn't give up music, because, Killian Jones-" She leaned closer again, placing her hand on his jaw. "you are incredible. Leave the lifestyle behind. The act. Maybe cut back on your drinking. But don't give up on music."

Killian's blue eyes stared back as the emotion overwhelmed him. His throat had completely closed, he wouldn't be able to say anything, so he kissed her and poured every ounce of feeling inside of him into the contact.

-/-

 _Killian: Just landed in L.A. Going to the hotel to check in now_

 _Emma: Great, what's your first appearance?_

 _Killian: The Ellen Degeneres Show_

 _Emma: Ughhh jealous_

 _Killian: I did ask you to come with_

 _Emma: And I do have to work. Have fun. I miss you_

 _Killian: I miss you too, Swan._

Two weeks, two full weeks he had to spend without her. The appearances and trip had been booked way before they had met, so postponing or canceling had not been an option.

It was the first time they had been in a separate state–not to mention on the other side of the country– since the beginning of their relationship and it didn't take long for Killian to reach a conclusion: being away from her was difficult.

Killian had unknowingly grown so used to her being around that he didn't know how to conduct himself anymore. With her, he was Killian. On the stage, he was Killian Jones. But he hadn't been on a stage since that concert in New York and between then and today, he had promised Emma to leave that act behind.

 _Emma: You'll be great by the way!_

He hoped so.

-/-

His performances were, but he wasn't.

In fact, he was doing pretty fucking terrible.

Go to rehearsal, fill your time with something, go back to the studio, perform the same song for the fifth time in three days, meet the host, smile and talk about your record, maybe play a song you've only played twice before, go to the hotel, sign a couple of autographs, call her, get voicemail because she's busy or sleeping, drink out of despair, sleep.

It was a destructive routine.

There were three days and one radio performance left before he could return to New York. The solitude was taking his toll. Why did Tink not accompany him? Why wasn't she here to assist? Whose fucking idea was it to let him go alone?

His own. Right. Smart thinking, Jones. He was relapsing into his rock star mode because he insisted he was fine.

The hotel was too silent, too dull for someone like him. Killian needed bustle, chatter, a spark of life. There wasn't any to be found inside. So outside, he went. A line of cabs stood by the exit of the hotel and he jumped into one, ordering the driver to bring him somewhere with music. The man creased his eyebrows before shrugging and leaving the curb. He braked at a nightclub, announcing to Killian that they had music here and telling him the cost of the drive. A couple of dollar bills got pushed his way and the chauffeur accepted them.

This wasn't exactly the kind of music he was aiming at, but it was the mood that mattered and from the looks of it, the atmosphere was incredible. A couple of curious looks followed him as he entered, clearly recognizing his face. Killian made his way to the bar, the music thrumming in his ears, and ordered rum.

"Hi!" someone yelled over the music.

"Hello," Killian replied to the girl standing next to him. The glass was empty again and he motioned to the bartender for a refill.

"I'm Nathalie," the brunette said.

"Nice to meet you, Nathalie." His response was one out of common courtesy, Killian didn't want to be rude to the woman, but he wasn't interested in what she wanted to say either.

"You're Killian Jones, right?" Nathalie leaned closer, purposely accentuating her barely covered cleavage.

"I am and I also have a girlfriend," he told her.

It didn't deter Nathalie as he hoped. No, her arm crawled up his, bending over his shoulder and her hand drew patterns on his back.

"I don't see her around," she spoke slowly, pursing her bright red lips and beguiling Killian.

Emma. Emma. She was alone in New York. He had made a promise to her. And he was already breaking that promise by drinking this much. No, he wouldn't.

"I really can't."

"One dance," she begged . "Can you give me that? One dance with Killian Jones."

Killian sighed loudly but it was drowned down by the electronic music. Nathalie's brown eyes pleaded. He downed his drink.

"Fine."

-/-

He stumbled into the hotel lobby, attempting not to trip over his own feet. To say he drank a lot was an understatement. A very big one. The only thing he needed right now was a bed. Wanting to reach that bed as fast as possible, Killian rushed towards the elevator.

"Killian!"

What a coincidence. That voice sounded exactly like Emma's. But how could it be? She was in New York City, most likely asleep. He continued to step before realizing that the person with a voice resembling Emma's had addressed him. Slowly, he turned around. How weird. The woman standing there looked an awful lot like Emma.

Hold on, it was Emma.

How was she here? This had to be a dream, a drunken hazy dream.

She reached him, opening her arms and wrapping them around him. With a three second delay, his arms did the same. He touched her and decided that it wasn't a dream. This was far too realistic to be a figment of his imagination.

"Killian, you smell like rum." Emma made a sniffing sound. "A lot of it."

"I went out," he explained.

"Alone?" Her forehead creased, a line forming between her eyebrows.

"Aye. What- What are you doing here?"

"I came to surprise you, but I'm not seeing any joy so…" Her sentence died down and the mood changed.

He had to tell her that he was happy, that he'd been wanting her here for the last two weeks. He just had to get over the shock.

"No, I am, Swan. I am." Killian smiled and she copied the action, even though her initial excitement had shrunk.

"Killian!" a woman yelled again.

What was happening tonight? They both faced the direction of the shout. The dark hair looked familiar. And so did the tiny dress. Nathalie. She had followed him. All the way from the club to the hotel. Talk about determination

"Who's she?" Emma threw him a look of puzzlement.

"Umm." He searched a way to clarify, without implying anything that didn't happen. Killian didn't do anything. He didn't cheat. One dance, that was all. The distance between the two of them and his quasi-stalker became smaller.

"Nathalie," he said, wanting to say something before she arrived.

Their embrace stopped, because Emma released him, nearly pushed him away.

"You can leave now, Nathalie," she commanded when Nathalie joined them. "Leave." The menacing tone coming from Emma scared Nathalie away, but before she fled, she looked at Killian and threw him an air kiss.

For fucks's sake.

"What the fuck just happened?"

Emma was outraged, and Killian understood. It looked terrible, but he was going to explain. Fix everything. They'd forget about all of this and go to sleep in each other's arms. That's how it should be.

"She was a fan," he began.

"Is that supposed to make it better?" she yelled, throwing her hands in the air. "God, Killian!"

"Emma, you're overreacting." Killian chose the wrong words to try and calm her.

"Am I? Am I?" Her eyes dared him to reply, wide and angry. "I don't even know what's wrong with you. I waited here for hours, called you a million times. They couldn't let me up because I could be some fangirl, but it looks like you've found yourself one."

"Emma," he groaned.

If she only would listen, but no she was being her stubborn self. The few people left in the lobby shot them worried glances.

"Don't Emma me! You promised you would stop. You told me you would leave this persona behind."

"This is me, Emma." His hand encircled his body. "I don't know how you still haven't fucking figured that out."

Emma huffed, turning her head away from him. She couldn't even look at him anymore. It was that bad.

"Don't even try fooling me." Her volume decreased, it fell back to that of an ordinary conversation. Like they were discussing what they would eat for dinner tomorrow. Emma had given up. "You were never this person to begin with. You simply told yourself and at some point you started to believe it. But the fact-" Her eyelids closed as she sneered. "The fact that you couldn't even try for two fucking weeks makes you pathetic after all."

And he was back to being pathetic. After all of his efforts, that was what he was again.

It hurt. Hearing Emma say he was pathetic hurt his entire body and soul. Killian clenched his jaw. It was a bad combination, his temper and alcohol and he didn't want to lash out. Taking deep breaths, he tried to calm himself.

"I'm done," Emma stated.

"What?"

"I. Am. Done." Every pause was a cut. "I am done with "Killian Jones". I can't do all the fixing for you." Her hair moved as she shook her hair. "You have to do it yourself."

But. He needed her. She was the one that made him calm. Without her, he would turn back into the wreck he was before. Killian couldn't. He was better like this. He was better with her.

Grabbing her suitcase, she backed away from him. Killian couldn't let her leave. After two steps, he caught up with her and stopped her by grabbing her wrist.

"Where are you going?" he wanted to know.

"Home!" The anger slowly fell of her face, piece by piece, to reveal a picture of hurt. "I'm going home." A tear rolled down her cheek, revealing she hurt too.

Killian let her leave, because forcing her to stay would only increase their pain.

-/-

He pressed down on the keys of the piano, slowly starting the last song of the evening.

"Last time I stood here in this venue, it actually changed my life." There wasn't a trace of fallacy in his words. "I met the love of my life."

The crowd awed in response.

"It wasn't cute in reality. I was an absolute dick to her and she called me out for it, with a lot of swear words." Killian chuckled into the mic as he thought back. "I wrote this song for her. Even though she's not here today and I haven't seen her in a year. Even though she won't return my calls. I still love her," he confessed to hundreds of strangers. "God, why am I pouring my heart out on stage? I'm making everything really depressing. Which is fitting because this is also the last song of the evening. You've been amazing and thanks for being here. Anyways, this is Life With(out) You."

 _Am I too scared of mundane things  
Like how caterpillars just grow wings  
Rivers flood, fires soar  
I can't take any more  
The ache burns my chest  
A sad liquor drinking fest_

 _Am I the one you need me to be.  
Am I the thing you like to see.  
Cuz if I'm not that to you.  
The battle is over, the effort is through._

 _Your voice sounds lovely in the morning.  
It's a raspy, beautiful warning  
Leaves fall, branches break  
Without you I lie awake  
The silence haunts my head  
Sometimes I wish we had never met_

 _Am I the one you need me to be.  
Am I the thing you like to see.  
Cuz if I'm not that to you.  
The battle is over, the effort is through._

 _God, I make you a fucking mess  
No one has ever loved me with success  
Voices scream, tears dry. You're still here, why  
The love ignites my heart, but it would break if we would part_

 _Emma tell me what you need me to be.  
Emma tell me what you'd like to see.  
Because if I'm that to you.  
I'll do my best, I'll do better for you_

The lights went out and the crowd applauded, the clapping of their hands making Killian's eardrums hurt. He took out his earpiece and let it hang around his neck. Tink nodded, a silent approval. He had done well, this was what she wanted, what she needed from him. Honesty and music. Honesty in music. His manager didn't bother to detain him, she most likely saw the exhaustion in his body language.

It was calm. Calmer than when he toured "Crash". No fans with backstage passes hanging around their neck asking for autographs. No rerun of everything that had gone right during the concert and everything that could use some work. No reporters swarming, asking questions he did not feel like answering. Only Killian.

There was no trace of alcohol in his dressing room, only bottles of water and he was relieved. How long had it been since his last drop? Little less than a year. Killian was proud of himself, it hadn't been easy but it was better like this.

There was a knock on his door and he sighed.

"Come in!" he yelled. "Tink, if this is about the concert, could it please wait until tomorrow?"

The blonde hair didn't belong to his manager, it was loose and longer than hers. The woman didn't have anything green on, either.

"Hi," Emma said.

"Hi," he replied, his voice suddenly disappearing. She looked beautiful, more beautiful than he remembered her to be. One year and now she was back. "What are you…" Killian didn't finish his question, he didn't have to.

She raised her press card. "Still a journalist."

"Aha," he chuckled. "As you might have noticed, I'm still a songwriter."

"I did."

After she left, he wrote. An entire album. Thirteen songs in a record speed. All of them inspired by her. The album immediately went number one. It was a bittersweet accomplishment.

"Do you really love me?" she suddenly asked and his answer came as quickly.

"Aye."

"Good."


	13. a true love's tradition

After close to twenty years in the gray-colored, white window-sill house, it had changed an awful lot. The windows did not allow the cold to seep in anymore; the floorboard near the kitchen that used to yelp under any kind of weight had been replaced. The empty room on the first floor had first served as Henry's lodgings, was then completely transformed when he moved out and turned into an office before turning back into a bedroom. For an infant this time, a place for their grandchildren to stay. The house by the docks had become their home, where their family was, the place where they were rooted.

There was less adventure in their souls and more of a longing for tranquility. There was less black in Killian's hair and more gray streaks instead. The early hesitance had been switched to routine and familiarity. But one thing was still as omnipresent the day they moved in. Love.

...

The day that Killian had discovered the meaning behind Valentine's Day had been quite amusing. It wasn't Emma, who was still his girlfriend back then instead of his wife now, who indulged Killian in the seemingly old and important tradition, but it was her mother instead.

He could still remember Emma's slight embarrassment and the light rosy color that appeared on her cheeks when he asked her about it. She told him that it didn't need to be a big thing, that he shouldn't make an effort for her, and ever since Killian had done that exact thing.

His Swan deserved the world and more, so every year had to be better, more beautiful and special than the last, without being over the top may he add. This year, however, was a whole new level of special and Killian had nothing to do with it.

* * *

"Amelia is going to be fine." Emma wiped her wet hands on a blue hand towel and discarded the piece of cloth, throwing it over the sink's edge. "She has a savior mom and a pirate dad," she reminded him as she wrapped her arms around him. Her fingers felt cool on the dry skin of his neck.

Her green irises peered into his, her eyebrows slightly raised to reassure him. The inkling of doubt lingered, not dissolving like usual because of the pair of familiar eyes. Before, during the first couple of months of their dalliance, it seemed like her eyes screamed _I love you_ every time their gazes met, to make sure the other one understood. And now the words resembled a whisper. As if it was a secret between the two of them how much they truly and completely loved and adored each other.

Killian didn't respond, but only nibbled on his lips. They were venturing into new territories, unknown and uncharted land. Amelia's entire existence had been that way for him. Killian had worried every second: of the pregnancy, of the birth, of her first year, of every year after that. It was indescribable what kind of bond he felt with her the instant he first heard her heartbeat. Somehow that connection only became stronger when he actually got to know his daughter, when he discovered how smart and funny and kind she was.

"Honey." His wife's voice pulled him out of his nagging thoughts. Her arms tightened around him while her fingers moved through the short hairs at his nape. "Go talk to her. I'm sure she'd love her father to join her for a minute."

"You think?"

"Killian," she complained. "Why are you suddenly becoming so hesitant about everything?"

Shifting his weight from one foot to another, Killian shuffled slightly over the floor, Emma still in his arms. His hook gently rested against her lower back and his hand was buried in the fabric of her flower blouse, thumbing her waist.

"She's simply grown so much, Swan. It won't be long until she moves out and marries and she has children of her own," he rambled.

Emma chuckled and Killian creased his eyebrows. He was being very serious and this was no laughing matter. The indignation of the movement turned her laughter more subdued and it slowly ebbed away as she lifted a corner of her mouth in sympathy.

"Babe, Lia is only going on her first date, it's not like she's ready to put her signature on a marriage license. If you want to worry about anyone doing that, it should be about Henry."

"At least with him, I have had time to prepare for that. He and Violet haven't been particularly secretive about their motives, have they?"

Bar for a short six-month break in their relationship right before they left for university, Violet and Henry have been going strong for years. It was unbelievable how lucky those two were to find each other immediately, without any heartbreaking sorrow or harmful deceit. And it was even more astonishing how pure their love was.

"No, they have not," Emma confirmed. "Now, quit stalling and go upstairs."

Unlinking her arms from around him, she widened the distance between them and tugged at his hook, silently repeating her instruction. He knew better than to ignore his wife because of both her fierceness and her skill to give him the perfect advice that always led to the outcome he yearned for.

Step by step, he ascended the stairs until he reached the second floor. He rapped his hand against the light brown door in two short knocks, the rings decorating his hand all making a different sound against the wood. Absentmindedly, his eyes stared at the black shoes on his feet.

The thoughts in his mind were all tangled, a chaotic mess with no clear beginning or end. Killian needed a reassuring response, a settling answer. But to what? What was he even going to say or ask Amelia? How could something so small upset him this much?

The door swished open, startling him while doing so. Lia stood behind it, her dark hair twisted into a loose braid and her brow subtly furrowed.

"Dad, I said you could come in," she said with a wary voice and narrowing those eyes of her that seemed to be a common characteristic of the women in this family. Snow had them, Emma had them, and Amelia inherited them as well.

"Apologies." He gently shook his head, attempting to summon his normal behavior and to prevent raising any suspicions about his current state of mind. "I must have missed that."

Amelia widened the door opening, letting him into her room and grabbed a chair from under her cluttered desk, that Killian chose to ignore, for him to sit on. She jumped onto her bed, the mattress bouncing in response and folded her legs under her.

"What's up?" his daughter asked curiously, her eyebrows high and a sweet smile playing on her lips.

"Nothing in particular." Killian shrugged while downplaying his visit. He sat himself on the desk chair. "Are you ready for tonight?"

"I am," Lia nodded. "I'm a little bit nervous, though."

"I understand. I remember how nervous I was when your mother asked me out."

And surprised and baffled and curious and worried and so incredibly in love. But Amelia didn't need to know that.

"Mom asked you out?" she repeated, a gleam of wonder and amazement in her expression.

"I never told you that?" Killian had been quite sure that he had or at least that it had been mentioned by either him or Emma, but Amelia shook her head and small loose strands of hair moving along in certainty. "Well, aye, she did. I was playing darts at Granny's and she walked up to me and blurted the question out. Completely baffled me while doing it. While throwing my next dart, I even missed the dartboard by a couple of inches because I didn't expect it at all." Killian chuckled with the memory and heard his daughter's more feminine laugh join.

"Knowing the both of you, it does make sense that Mom would take that first step."

"What does that mean?" Killian asked while simultaneously inquiring if he should feel insulted and become mad at his seventeen-year old.

"I simply mean that Mom probably would've needed some time to catch up with you and that you would wait until she did. Because that's the kind of person you are, Dad."

He had never been good with compliments; usually he would deflect them and move on. Something hanging in the air prevented him from doing the same. Amelia's words carried so much admiration towards him; they returned the unadulterated love he felt for her back to him.

"I would wait an eternity for your mother," he admitted. "And for you as well."

The room became quiet as father and daughter both sat on their side, both moved and overcome with emotion. It would seem that he wasn't the only one who sensed the monumental nature of today. Without saying anything, Amelia tapped her pale hand on her burgundy sheets. He understood the message, stood up and crossed the distance between the bed and the desk.

"Can you tell me a bit more about your first date?"

Even though she was seventeen, in that moment she was right back to being six, awoken in the middle night because of a bad dream. It was the same tone and whisper she used to use to ask for a story to make her feel better, to calm her down and lull her back to sleep.

"Of course. As I said, your mother asked me out but I insisted on arranging the evening."

Amelia snorted. "Old fashioned as always."

"Do you want me to tell the story or not?" he partially threatened and Lia mumbled _yes_ and an apology in response. "I wanted to amaze your mother, so I put on some clothes from this realm, leaving my pirate garb behind. I bought a rose to surprise her."

Killian decided to leave out the part about making a deal with the crocodile to have two hands and the aftermath of that risk. It was too complicated and dark to tell his daughter before a romantic evening, especially since her date was also the son of said crocodile. Belle had made sure he didn't have anything to do with his father, that his blood never played a big part in his life, but both Amelia and Gideon were aware of the rivalry between their fathers and Killian did not want to make things more difficult for them and their blossoming relationship.

"Your mother wore a gorgeous pink dress and I was as gob smacked by her as she was by my new look. We went to this Italian place by the docks and, save for a small interruption by a certain thief-" Killian's dark eyebrow rose when he thought back of Will Scarlet. What ever happened to that bloke? "-it was absolutely perfect. Something transpired that night, assuring us that this was it. How it was supposed to be and how it should be for the rest of our lives. We went through so much but that sentiment withstood everything."

"And here you are."

"And here we are," he echoed, softly smiling and staring at the product of that feeling, that true love.

"I don't think anything quite as magical and life-changing is going to happen tonight," Lia began, "but Gideon is kind and patient and I do really like him, Dad."

That was essentially the only thing he needed to hear. This was something Amelia wanted, because she liked Gideon, because she was ready to see what was going on between them, because she was mature enough to do so. She was his little cygnet but she was growing up and Killian needed to come to terms with that. Accepting it would eradicate his problems.

"I know you do, Cygnet. Please don't think anything magical has to happen, as long as you feel comfortable and enjoy yourself, that doesn't matter."

Suddenly, Amelia's arms were around him and she was intensely squeezing him in a hug. Those weekly sword lessons clearly paid off in terms of her muscular strength.

"What was that for?" was the question he asked when she let him go. He knew better than to question any form of affection he received now that she was still only a floor away instead of in another state, but he still could not help himself.

"No particular reason." Her shoulders went up. "Except for that I love you and you're the best."

"I love you too." His lips left a small kiss in the sea of her raven hair. "Now, I do believe that there will be a young man at our doorstep in an hour or so and you are nowhere near dressed for a date."

"Then I say: 'Be gone, ye old pirate,'" she ordered, imitating an accent Killian had heard often during his seafaring days.

"Aye aye, captain." He winked and closed the door behind him. The heavy weight was gone and the tangled threads in his head had been ordered and lay in straight lines. Following his wife's advice did help.

...

"He _is_ older than she is, Swan."

With a straight back and crossed arms, Emma stared at him, one eyebrow higher than the other.

"Doesn't mean you had to go all protective pirate dad on him. And I don't think _you_ are allowed to talk about age differences. Remind me, how long ago were you born again?"

"Haha," he reacted to another one of his wife's age jokes. "Gideon knows me, Swan. The lad knows I was simply joking."

"If you say so," Emma said unconvinced as she turned away from him, focusing her gaze back on the street where the two young lovebirds got into Gideon's car. Her shoulders sagged as the tension left her body. "She looks stunning."

Killian hummed in agreement. He couldn't help but compare the light blush color of Amelia's dress to the one Emma wore all those years ago on the evening he spoke of in her room only an hour ago. He wondered if it was a coincidence or if it was a deliberate choice.

"Natural beauty that she most definitely got from her stunning mother," he flattered, trying to get back into her good graces after he indeed went a bit too far with attempting to intimidate Gideon.

"Charmer," she responded, seeing through his motives as if they were made of glass.

The car drove away, leaving the both of them standing on their porch. Killian stepped closer and encircled her waist with his arms from behind, placing his chin on her shoulder.

"That role is reserved for your father, Swan. I prefer rapscallion," he informed her before kissing her at the base of her neck.

"Okay, rapscallion, what are _we_ doing for Valentine's Day?"

Valentine's Day.

That was today.

Bloody Hell.

Killian's eyes widened, almost comically big. His breath hitched. For weeks, he had been so focused on his daughter's upcoming evening that he completely obliterated on their own Valentine's tradition.

"Umm." His hand left her waist to rub the back of his head. "I have to admit, Swan, that I forgot to plan something." Emma turned to face him and his gaze dropped. "I apologize for disappointing you, love."

A lot of things had come and had gone, were different than before but their Valentine's date was something that had existed since the beginning, a routine that had never been broken. Until now. Eighteen years and then this happened.

"Babe, I don't mind," she reassured him. After her hands found their way to his scruffed cheeks, her thumbs started drawing small circles in the hairs of his beard. "It had to happen at some point and the fact that you forgot because you were thinking of Amelia is part of why I love you."

"But it's tradition, love," Killian sighed. "Now we have nothing special to do."

"Killian, I don't need anything special to do." Emma moved her head from left to right. Everything you have done the last two decades has been amazing, but being with you, my one true love, is special enough."

"Alright, next year, though, prepare yourself for something extraordinary," he promised.

It didn't matter how long planning and how much money it took him; next Valentine's Day was going to be the best one yet.

"It seems like Gideon is going all out too," his wife commented as they returned inside. "Maybe it will become their tradition as well." She took a small pause and continued with a smile on her face. "A True Love's tradition."

"Swan, it's way too early to call those two True Love, alright?" True Love implied together forever, marriage, children and he had only just managed to stop thinking about his daughter and all of those things. He wasn't about to start anew. "Let's agree that we'll only use that name when they pass an actual test or break a curse."

Maybe not that last one, curses were never fun.

"Killian Jones, are you telling me that you only knew we were true love when we opened that door in the Underworld?" An accusing finger poked into his chest.

"I've always known you were the one, my love."

"You're such a kiss-ass," Emma laughed.

"I'm an arse you like to kiss." His mouth metamorphosed into a smirk and his eyebrow rose in a challenge.

Emma opened and closed her mouth, working to find a retaliation.

"I can't object to that," she eventually relented and shrugged.

"As I was expecting," he told her with a confident and cocky tone.

"What else were you expecting?"

Her head tilted as she asked the question, slowly and seductively.

"That we'd have the house to ourselves," he shared, sharing his underlying plans with the way he wrapped his accent around every word.

"Well then." She licked her lower lip. "Let's take advantage of that, shall we?"


	14. i feel safe when you hold me near

His arms curl around her, the force of his body creating a tight pressure on her chest. Although he is nearly crushing her, it feels good. It feels so good to be back, to be able to burrow her nose into his neck, to smell the fragrance that equates to home in her mind. Never had home been a person, it had never even been a place before Storybrooke. This is an uncharted territory. But she's home now, back with him, with them and she's is considering chaining herself to their dining room table to prevent her from leaving ever again.

"You are amazing, Emma."

The words settle into her heart, routing the fear and anger, it doesn't matter that Gideon nearly won; it doesn't matter that her victory was on the verge of being a defeat. He thought she was amazing and he loved her.

Hands intertwined, they return home with maundering steps. They are taking their time, but Emma doesn't want to linger on these empty and dark streets; she wants to return to the warmth of their house, crawl under their sheets and finally relax. Her lips are pressed tightly against one another, her teeth locking them in that position from the inside. If they open, a string of words will come out, faltering and incoherent.

They reach their street and after a few more strides their number. The gray house still stands and it looks the same as it did when she left–was forced out of– Storybrooke. Killian opens the door for her and they both enter. Following their usual routine, he removes his leather jacket and then toes off his shoes, storing them in the rack. Emma mindlessly copies the movements.

"You want to talk about it?" he asks, granting her a choice, telling her it's hers to make.

The alternate version of him was humorous at first, amusing even, before it dawned on her that that would have been his life. If she hadn't been the savior and she would have grown up with her parents and in a warm home with an abundance of food and clothes and money and love, then he would've become like that. Alone and unkempt. It was too late to change things in this reality, to let the events of the past happen as they did in that wish realm; her parents made their choice a long time ago. And still.

"Yes," she replies.

Her answer doesn't continue. It blocks like she does in the middle of their dimmed hallway. Killian tilts his head when she doesn't move and carefully approaches her. His hands cover her cheeks and he looks down to let his eyes peer into her. They glide across her face, searching for something and eventually settle on her lips.

The focus of his eyes as the only warning, he kisses her and it sends a jolt through her body. As if she found herself in a sleeping curse and his kiss woke her up. She kisses him back and back, her mind and body reacquainting with the feeling of being kissed by Killian Jones. How long was she gone again? A day? Maybe time moves differently in wish realms because it felt like an eternity

Killian is the one to break them apart, ever the reasonable one, and he takes her hand and lightly tugs to beckon her to follow. He leads her to their beloved couch and sits down.

"Tell me."

"It isn't really that horrible," she attempts to back out.

"That doesn't matter, Emma." His voice is gentle and full of understanding, the characteristic sound of when he calls her Emma. She hears the words he doesn't say aloud. _You can tell me anything you'd like and I'll listen. Always._

Somewhere during her report, her version of events, they end up stretched on the couch, Emma positioned between his legs and with her head against his thudding chest. Killian's hook rests over her abdomen and his hand plays with her hair, curling it around his finger and releasing it again as he listens to her tale.

"August was helping me to find a way to escape and as we were planning to leave we met-" She frowns while thinking of the right way to describe him, that man. "-you."

"The less spry version of me, if I recall correctly."

"You could call him that," she says, a hint of levity in the snort that follows her words. "He was… so different from the person you are."

She feels Killian's body tense under her; he straightens his shoulders and his hands still. Worried about the reason of his sudden change of attitude, Emma moves. She sits upright and turns to face him. Scanning his face, she tries to figure out what's amiss.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" Killian asks with furrowed brows, concerned about the actions of his alter ego.

"No, no," Emma assures him, "Only a lot of words and bravura. We didn't even spend more than five minutes together. He was harmless really."

Her hand drifts to the base of his neck, to the strong muscles there; her thumb absentmindedly draws circles on his skin. Every time she stares at that spot for too long, the picture of the wound flashes before her eyes, all bloody and gruesome. That stupid wound made by a stupid little cut in stupid Camelot while she was the stupid Dark One. And all that stupidness accumulated in nearly losing him for the umpteenth time. The emotional turmoil was beginning to take its toll, to claim its achievements.

"Then why were you upset?" The blue of his eyes seeks again, pursuing clarity and enlightenment, but Emma is doubting if she can give him, regardless of how much she wants to.

"I was supposed to be happier in that reality, but it was at the cost of yours."

Moving out of Killian's warm embrace, she widens the distance between them and plants her feet on the floor. Instead of looking at him, she stares at her red socks. The weight of her head resting on her palms is surely creating two red shapes in the form of elbows into the pale skin of her upper leg. Her loose hair covers her face, acting as a curtain between the two of them.

"You weren't happy in _that_ world and I knew you weren't happy in _this_ world. I was afraid I wouldn't see _you_ again and that we were separated for good. Only because I couldn't handle being the savior."

The shame forces her to close her eyes and hide by turning her hands into shields to shelter her face. The silence in the room certainly does not help to squelch the guilt. She had risked their relationship.

Her sight is still blocked by her closed eyelids and concealing hands but Emma hears Killian shift on the couch and she feels her hair being pushed behind her ear. Finger by finger, he pries her hands loose and takes them into his own.

"Did you want that wish to come true?" he asks and internally her mind immediately screams and shouts _no._

Directing her open again eyes to him, she decides to answer earnestly, "I did once. Several times, actually. It's been a while ago, but even when we were together, I'd sometimes think about it. Now I realize how selfish that was."

"Love." Killian shakes his head. "Wanting to have grown up with your parents is not a selfish thing. I understand, I am certain I've wished for that same thing a thousand times when I was a lad. As for not being the savior," he begins, slightly raising his dark eyebrow. "It is a hell of a task, isn't it? A task filled with pressure and expectations and sacrifice. Any sane person would search for a way out of that."

She can't think of a reply, a recurring thing with Killian in her life, and settles for wrapping her arms around him. He kisses the top of her head.

"Emma," he says in a whispering tone. "I was terrified earlier. You nearly died in that fight and I stood there, paralyzed, forced to watch and not able to do anything. And for the second time, _I_ wished you didn't need to be the savior. That we'd kept those damned sheers so we could have some kind of alternative."

An alternative to her visions. An alternative to her dying. A defeating breath escapes and Emma shuts her eyes again, this time because of the tears threatening to leak out.

"It does not make you weak, Emma," Killian continues as he wipes one tear that did manage to escape away. "You are so strong, far stronger than anyone I know, far stronger than I am, but we all have moments where the strength is difficult to muster." He shrugs.

In a shuddering breath, Emma fills her lungs until full capacity and as she lets the air go in one whoosh, she makes a decision. She straightens her back and holds her head high. She is the savior. She will remain the savior. And saviors fight.

"You know why I fought that hard earlier?" she asks him but doesn't give him the time to properly think and answer. "Because I wasn't going to give up this life, not when I was just reminded how perfect it is. I fought because I love you." Emma's lips curl. "You're it, you know that, right? I wouldn't want that fairytale life if it meant you and I aren't together."

Killian mirrors her expression, the corners of his mouth transform into a proud smile.

"The same goes for me, my love. All that I have gone through was worth it knowing that it led me to you." His eyes and mouth and hands and every little part of him radiates love.

"We're doing this together."

"We are," Killian agrees.


	15. untitled

A/N: This little (SPOILERY, SPECULATION) drabble thing is dedicated to my freaking out and time zone buddy Selina captainwiley . Because we love to kill ourselves with feels and never go to sleep on time. ❤️

He's nervous. More nervous than he can remember being in his two hundred plus years. He remembers the time before his possible designation as lieutenant. The memory of bringing Milah on the ship for the first time is still clear in his mind but the nerves he felt back then were child's play in comparison to the knot in his stomach, the slight tremble in his hand, the dryness in his throat he is feeling right now.

It's strange because at the time those things felt so determining. For a while, he thought being the obedient lieutenant of his captain brother was his duty, his calling, the thing he was going to be the rest of his life. Then it seemed as if he was going to succeed in running away with Milah, as if he was going to manage to spend the rest of his life sailing across the seas with her. Life intervened each time, tore his plans apart time after time, crushed his hopes and broke his heart until a pile of shards was left.

So much heartbreak and yet… she has managed to glue everything back together and to make him believe again.

* * *

Henry left about twenty minutes ago. The lad had raced all through the room, checking and double checking if everything was as it should be. He had left Killian alone to take a break with his mother only when he was absolutely certain he had performed every one of his best man tasks perfectly.

He feels jealous of the boy. Not because of the special bond he and his mother have; no, he could only admire and encourage that. The tinge of envy that his heart carries along is because Henry can go into her suite casually, see her without thinking about warnings and tradition. Killian can't, shouldn't and he regrets telling her about his choice in the first place. If he hadn't, he could just do what Henry was allowed to. Sit down next to her, laugh about the crazy thing they are about to do, let the air fill with reassurance and love.

There's a small knock on the door and Killian looks up, brow slightly furrowed. He is only expected at the altar in ten minutes and both David and Henry had reassured him these ten minutes would be his; to calm down and to prepare. The door remains closed, doesn't open as he would expect it to and his forehead creases even more.

"Aye?" he yells out.

"Killian?"

He doesn't know why he is so taken aback by the sound of her voice. Perhaps because it's been almost twenty-four hours since he's heard her timbre–or that he's seen her for that matter. They had communicated but only via text messages. She begged for him to stop being so old fashioned, he told her his decision was final. A decision he thoroughly regretted over the following couple of hours.

"Swan, you know it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding," he reminds her, but he wants her to ignore him, to be her stubborn self and come in despite some superstition.

"I know, but I needed to use the bathroom and now my zipper is somehow stuck and my mom has vanished. Is Henry still with you? Maybe he could help-" Her rambling voice resonates through the wooden door and he honestly doesn't need to hear more to yank it open to calm her down.

"Killian." Her eyes widen in shock and silently ask what he's doing.

He walks towards her and curls his lips to show her it's alright. Because it is. It was a stupid idea anyways. He loves her too much for it to have succeeded. He adds some sympathy into the mix of his emotions as he sees her conundrum: a half open zipper and two crookedly attached buttons.

"Let me help." His hook motions her to come closer, allows her to officially break tradition.

Emma lets out a content sigh and turns. It's a challenge to carefully with only one hand but it isn't a challenge he can't handle. His hand lingers on the zipper and his now bare fingers trace a pattern over her skin. It had been hundreds of years since he hadn't worn his rings and he can't help but feel naked. Exposed. He took off his past, his moniker and persona and now only Killian Jones remains. That's how it should be. Killian Jones is the only version that even remotely deserves Emma.

Besides, his hand won't stay empty for very long. In a matter of minutes, a new addition will adorn his ring finger. A ring to symbolize the future. Killian closes his eyes in contentment. He feels Emma shift under his touch, probably wondering what is taking him so long or maybe sensing the gratitude and love that is being emitted out of him.

He opens his eyes again and is met with her soft smile. It carries a trace of shyness and no doubt that his face mirrors that expression. Because this is it. For ever and always. After today his heart will fully belong to her; well, it already did but now everyone will be a witness of his dedication. Despite the vulnerability, he's never felt stronger. There's a moment of silence, a heartbeat or two, before both of their smiles widen.

"We are going to get married," Killian says and Emma nods.

"I hope I haven't ruined your superstition thing."

"I cannot fathom how seeing what I'm looking at right now could ever carry bad luck. You are a vision, Swan." She is, all elegance and grace in white. Her face is still void of any makeup but she shines with happiness and that has always been her best look.

"You're not looking bad yourself," she teases and he chuckles in response.

"We are going to get married," Killian says a bit softer, disbelief coloring every word. His hand lingers on her cheek.

Emma lifts her hand and places it over his, causing the ring he gave her to sparkle in the light. Her other hand takes hold of his hook, covering the curve.

"We are."

And it's her certitude, her determination that finally chases away the stress.

Killian doesn't kiss her goodbye on the lips because he has already tempted fate enough for one day and because he realizes the significance of their following lip lock. As an alternative, he just presses his lips against her hand. Emma leaves, back to her room, back to her preparations but not before Killian winks at her one last time.

The next time he sees her, she is walking towards him; every step closer to their future, every stride one towards their very happy beginning.


	16. access granted

**A/N: a fic for the lovely Ruhi, who also made a very pretty banner for this fic (check my blog swanandapirate). This is a AU where Emma works for the FBI and Killian is a hacker**

Finding the code to success of being a good hacker is easier than one would think. It's all about knowing and understanding your opponent and adapting your tactics as you go.

Small websites are like young, inexperienced fighters. There's sloppiness, and there are unguarded bits and spaces; they use all of their energy in the first ten minutes, trying to wear their opponent down, but end up tired themselves and even more lax. That's when you attack and strike the death-blow.

The key to hacking a multinational lies somewhere else. Think of them as the big, muscular, intimidatingly staring fellows whose arms are decorated with black tattoo lines and whose teeth are in dire need of attention. There is no way in hell you would win in a head to head battle; there's no point in even trying. What do you do instead? You look for their weak spot, their Achilles' heel just waiting to be uncovered. You study their every movement, their system, how they function. And when the bright, neon arrow starts flickering; well, that's when the fun begins.

* * *

"Are you telling me not one of you is able to do this?"

Her eyes widen as she glances over the room and the people perched behind the computers, avoiding her gaze. Emma raises her eyebrow in disbelief. How could the most talented and skilled people in the country, chosen through various selection processes of the highest quality, be unable to do this one simple thing she was requesting?

"I'm sorry, Boss," Tink hesitantly apologizes, "but all of Gold's servers are air-tight, there's no way in."

Emma huffs and places her hands on her temples, her fingers rotating to offer some relief against an impending migraine. If there's one thing that will ruin her mood, it's this. And people who lie relentlessly. And when her cocoa has no cinnamon in it. And people who walk slowly; why must people always walk slowly right when she's in hurry? Alright, a lot of things can ruin her mood, but with the levels of stress and pressure she encounters on a daily basis, as one does in this line of work, that tends to happen.

"And you've tried every possible approach?" she asks, emphasizing her last words with small breaks in between, giving them one last chance to come up with a brilliant solution.

"Everything in this team's capability, yes."

An opportunity that they did not use properly.

"Fine," Emma says, but her tone reflects that it is most definitely not fine. She is not going to accept mediocrity, especially when it comes to such an important case as the Gold one. This is the Federal Bureau of Investigation, for crying out loud. They thrive on excellence. "Then I'm going to need to find another way to crack this case. On my own, seeing that I'm apparently surrounded by incapable employees."

* * *

She steps aside, masterfully avoiding the newly formed puddles of rain between the cobblestones. The rain falls with soft thuds, creating a steady cadence on her black umbrella. Its color matches that of her coat and that of her pants, of her entire outfit, actually. There's no coincidence about it, everything sharing the same dark hue, because there's just no color better to shield someone – their face, their motives – than black. And that's something Emma can use; obscurity.

"August," she greets him, approaching until the shadows of the night are chased away and the light of the buzzing lamppost finds his face again.

He's sitting on his bike, eating an apple, dressed in a dark brown leather jacket. The epitome of casualty, of calmness. His hair is wet; small, clear droplets are clinging to the strands, attaching themselves until they inevitably let go again.

"Emma," August retorts as he tips his head as a sign of recognition. The small gesture, as well as the little tick of his lips, reveals their history, the shared past only they are aware of. "Sure no one followed you?" One of his eyebrows shoots up with the question and Emma can't help but roll her eyes.

"August," she scoffs, attempting to remind him of all the years they've known each other. "I've been with the FBI for six years. I think I can spot when someone is trailing me."

He lets her have that one, admits that she is right and that it was idiotic of him with a quick rise of his eyebrows. It's one of her favorite things about him. August knows her and he respects her, who she is and what she represents.

"What do you need?"

His blue irises shine with openness, with a willingness to help her, as he has done so many times before. Help her for a price, of course, because nothing in this world is free. There is always some underlying reason or drive hidden by a falsely reassuring smile. In most cases, it's money they are seeking. It may sound pessimistic, but, like Emma said before, she's been in this business for six years and her belief in fairytales has been gone for way longer. Information always comes with a price.

"A hacker. A good one." There's a small pause. "No, scratch that. An incredible one," Emma specifies. "Someone who isn't just a tech nerd. I need someone who can think out of the box."

August lifts the pocket knife in his hand and the dimmed and orange-toned light from the lamppost reflects off of it. The knife ruthlessly cuts into the green apple, separating a piece of fruit and lifting it to his mouth. His eyes intently staring over Emma's shoulder, August's jaw clenches as his teeth bite down and down. She can see the introspection he's doing, the deep-thinking process of sifting through all of his mental resources. Suddenly, he nods.

"I know someone. And I think he's exactly what you're looking for."

Her hand slips into one of the big pockets of her trench coat and rummages around until her fingertips comes into contact with a familiar shape. Emma grabs the post-it block and the pen she always carries with her, ready to take note of the person that will hopefully crack this case for her, that will play her personal IT savior.

"What's his name?"

"He goes by Captain Hook online. His real name, I don't know." His eyes narrow.

With her one hand serving as a flat canvas, Emma's right one flows over the yellow square, leaving two words written in black ink in its wake.

"And you're sure he's capable of doing what I need him to do?"

"More than," August assures her. "He's been wreaking all sorts of havoc in the last couple of weeks. I heard he was hired by one of the biggest cigarette counterfeiting criminals at the moment. He singlehandedly hacked a private chat owned by her biggest enemy."

"Cigarette counterfeiting?" Emma asks, the words ringing a bell somewhere in her head. "You're not talking about Cruella DeVil, are you?"

"That's the one. A piece of work, isn't she?"

"Tell me about it. I'm happy her case got moved to another division because she was really starting to bother me." The note is quickly folded and hidden in the inner pocket of her trench coat. "Thanks for the information, August. I appreciate it. As always…" Emma retrieves an envelope from the opposite pocket. It is thick and unfolded, its insides filled with a very rich content.

Emma has to give props to August; he looks like he's hesitating to accept the money, as if he doesn't want it, while they both know he has no other choice but to accept. He is in dire need of cash. Emma doesn't know what he does to make ends meet; _can't_ actually because there's a serious risk that she'd have to arrest him if she did. So, this is what she does, help him out, because they've known each other for so long and because that's what friends do for each other.

"Be careful, alright?" she requests, leaving her carefully-crafted facade to reveal the genuine fear and worry that tends to loiter in the back of her mind.

"Always am, Ems. Always am."

He salutes her before putting his riding helmet on and awakening the engine of his motorcycle. The bike roars off into the night, disturbing its previous calm. She watches him leave and sighs briefly while she hopes, wishes, prays that he'll return when she needs him, unharmed and unchanged. Losing someone close to her is not something she wants to experience.

The umbrella unfolds in one swift motion, being held above Emma's head once again as she walks back.

It is time to find Captain Hook.

* * *

"Humbert." Emma walks in with a determined stride and a cup of coffee in her hand. She takes off her blazer, revealing a burgundy blouse.

"Yes, boss?" Her employee turns in his chair, an open expression on his face. The fabric of his vest is slightly rumpled and Emma can spot the remnants of a donut on his desk but decides not to mention it.

"I need you to find me any and everything there is on a hacker called Captain Hook," she orders.

Obediently and without a word of objection, he turns back to his bright screen to start his search. Emma leans a bit closer and peers over his shoulder to follow his actions.

"Sure. Let me see." Graham's fingers swiftly move over his keyboard while his face is contorted in a concentrated scowl. The light thuds continue for a while but it seems that no combination of letters and numbers can lead to an answer to her question. "I can't find anything, sorry," Humbert says, reaffirming her hunch. "They're clearly covering their tracks."

"Can we trace his IP address?" Emma asks, already knowing the answer before Graham shakes his head. If he's a notorious hacker, he would not be stupid enough to leave his IP address out in the open, for everyone to uncover.

"It's encrypted. Do you have any idea what his last hack was?" His gray eyes look up at her.

"I know he was hired by Cruella recently to hack some chat owned by Isaac Heller, but I have no idea how long ago that was."

"Isaac Heller, the author?" The surprise in his voice makes his Irish accent stand out.

Emma shrugs to show that she doesn't understand the connection either. "Apparently they have some kind of major drama going on."

"Sounds like our Cruella. Hmmm." Humbert presses his lips together and rakes his fingers through his beard. "Maybe I can trace her payment to his bank account. We all know Cruella isn't the most subtle person, so her transactions should be easy to view."

"Alright." Emma stretches her back and backs away from Graham's desk. "Keep me updated," she requests, making her way to her office. A stack of paperwork awaits her, sadly enough.

The pile has shrunk by half when Graham calls her office, saying that he found something. There is no real use for her to go back to his desk, he could tell her his findings via phone, but Emma always has preferred some sort of visual, some sort of proof to back up his words.

"And?" Her black heels click against the linoleum floor.

"Cruella spends a horrendous amount of money on liquor," he informs her, but there is nothing Emma can do with that information. One, she had already concluded that from the amount Cruella drinks, and two, it is not a valuable addition to this investigation.

"Humbert, focus please," she reprimands in a stern voice. "You know that's not the information I need."

"Sorry," is rushed out of his mouth and he looks taken aback by her comment. He quickly starts telling her the info she is interested in. "Cruella wired one hundred thousand dollars to an offshore account in Switzerland, figures," he adds. "About two weeks ago."

"Yeah, that could be it." Emma nods. "My source talked about the last couple of weeks or so."

He frowns and a worried look flashes across his eyes. "Your source?"

Emma sighs softly. Graham is getting too attached to her. She has suspected that his connection to her went way further than the appropriate superior officer/employee for a while now, but she kept on trying to convince herself that she was just imagining things. Doing that is becoming more difficult every day.

"My source is reliable and I trust them," she reassures.

"I know, but it could be dangerous."

"Graham, I can handle myself," she tells him a bit too firmly. He means well, she knows that and he's just a genuinely good and kind guy but his puppy eyes are starting to become too difficult to face every second of every day. "Besides, I'm your boss, you're not supposed to question my actions." Her tone is final, ending the conversation right then and there. "Do we have a name to match to that account?"

His head held low, the mass of curls reply. "It belongs to James Hook."

"Why is this guy so obsessed with Peter Pan?" she whispers under her breath.

She purses her lips in thought. What could she do with this information? It clearly is an alias, the connection between Captain Hook and James Hook evident so there will be no census to look through or records to consult.

"James Hook also rents a postbox in Storybrooke, Maine," Humbert interrupts her thinking, simultaneously giving her her next step in her game plan.

"Storybrooke, Maine? Really?" There is not a chance in hell–or Neverland–that this is all a coincidence. This guy clearly spent a lot of time crafting his persona and Emma doesn't know if she should be impressed or feel sorry for him. "I guess it's time to make a phone call to the Storybrooke Post Office."

Emma retreats to her office again, sits down in her black leather chair and picks up the receiver of her telephone. Eyes focused on the sheet of paper next to her, she blindly types in the number. She straightens her back as she brings the phone closer. The continuous tone of the dialing resonates in her ear until it's abruptly cut.

"Storybrooke Mail, how may I help you?" a chipper, young voice greets her.

"Hi," Emma replies, the pep taking over her usual business tone. "My name is Candice Johnson. I'd like to send a package to my friend James Hook but I want to be a 100% sure that it reaches its recipient."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that, ma'am. All mail and packages for Mr. Hook are carefully stored with us and are then picked up by his assistant," the young woman shares.

"His assistant?" Emma pricks up her ears.

"Yes, Killian Jones," the post employee divulges. "Mr. Hook is quite reclusive so Mr. Jones takes care of all his business. He's like his spokesperson." A light laugh reaches her ear and Emma joins to make sure she doesn't break character. The fake nature of the cackle is lost in transmission.

"Sounds like James to have one," Emma continues the charade. "Well, thank you very much."

"You are very welcome! Have a nice day!"

"You too," is the last thing Emma says before the call is ended and therefore her acting as well.

"Small town people are too loose-lipped." Her head softly shakes with her observation.

She quickly writes the name, the man behind the moniker, down. The next step on her to-do-list is to run an extensive search on him. Find out what drives him, what his story is. There are a lot of perks of working at the FBI; finding out everything on a person's life, past, ambitions... in one single mouse click must be one of her favorite ones.

She dials another number, this time one she knows by heart, and the person on the other side of the line instantly picks up.

"David?" Her question is excessive because who else would answer the phone on his desk?

"Yes?" His familiar voice responds.

"Did you solve that Walsh Woods case?" Emma lightly spins on her chair.

"I did, yes. Why?" he asks.

"I was wondering if you'd like to accompany me on a trip for the Gold case."

"Alright," he agrees without hesitation and fully trusting her. "Am I just coming along because you don't want Mills to criticize you?"

"What do you mean, David?" She pretends to be completely taken aback by his accusation, but she knows David had already figured her out. "I just want to take a road trip with one of my best friends."

"So definitely to avoid Mills' wrath." David chuckles. "But I don't mind. So, where are we going?"

"Storybrooke, Maine," Emma announces.

* * *

Her foot impatiently taps against the concrete. This guy needs to be home or else Mills will kill her for wasting half a day driving to and from a town in the middle of nowhere to have achieved exactly nothing.

"Hello?" he croaks through the speaker of the intercom.

Relief surges in her body; relief that she survived another day of Mills tolerating her; relief that she would live another day without having her heart ripped right out of her chest.

"I have a UPS package for a Mr. Killian Jones."

Knowing his kind, he will never let her in if she tells him the truth, if she introduces herself with her name and profession. And the chances of him regularly receiving visitors are probably low as well, so this was the only believable, plausible cover.

"Uhm," Jones clears his throat. "Could you leave it by the door?"

"You have to sign for it, sir," Emma insists, hoping he will fall for it and let her enter the building.

He considers it – contemplates it, if the silence tells her anything – for a moment.

"Alright." The agreement is followed by a sigh. "Come on up. It's the third floor."

The door buzzes open and Emma quickly heads for it, opening before the sound stops and the lock comes into force again. In lieu of the stairs, she decides to take the elevator because it does make more of an entrance than arriving on his floor panting and with a layer of sweat on her forehead. Stairs in these heels were deadly. She strides to his door, head held high and shoulders straight and lets her knuckles touch the door in three short but powerful knocks.

The door swings open and reveals a man around her age. He is about as tall as she is, though Emma suspects that, without her heels, he would tower over her. His hair is messy, a blur of dark strands and light stubble adorning his jaw. Emma already knew all of this, his age, his height, and what he looked like, courtesy of her thorough studies on him and his life, though she has to admit that seeing him in person does affect her. No picture can capture the blue she is witnessing; it's impossible to transfer the color or the sparkle of his eyes onto paper.

"You do not look like a UPS deliverer," he comments, his irritation accompanied by grogginess.

Another addition to her previous assessment: he looks like he had just woken up in the middle of the afternoon.

"That's because I'm not," Emma tells him truthfully. "Killian Jones, I assume?" Her eyebrow soars.

"Aye." He narrows his eyes. "And you are?"

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones. Emma Swan." She extends her hand, but he only eyes it warily. "I have an offer to make."

Before Jones can realize, Emma invites herself into his apartment, swiftly stepping inside. He lets her, leans back and opens the door wider for her but it's more out of avoidance of a collision than it is out of hospitality or warmth.

Her eyes roam around in the apartment, curious about the home base of one of the most feared hackers, but there's not much to see. The entire space looks empty and void. No big pompous art or designer items that could betray his very large income. Not more than the bare essential one could need.

"Emma Swan or Candice Johnson?"

He sucks her attention back to him and Emma smiles. He clearly has a perceptive side to him, a talent to pick up suspicious signs. Him figuring her out doesn't bother her, far from it, she even feels amused. Covering her tracks or being subtle about all of this, was never something she focused on, and the fact that he managed to connect the dots means that he will fit in her team, that he is a viable candidate for the open position.

His question gets deflected and ignored. "I want you to come work for me, Mr. Jones."

There's no trace of surprise in his expression, no flinch on his composed face and Emma finds it a bit curious. His passivity gives way for a salacious grin on his lips, indicating nothing good about the words to follow.

"I'm sorry but I won't accept your money. If you want to partake in more pleasurable activities, all you have to do is ask, Swan." He adds the nickname, articulates it as if they've known each other for years and as if his proposition isn't highly inappropriate.

A skeptical "are you kidding me right now" eyebrow goes up. One minute in his presence and this guy is already hitting on her. It does help to expand the file on him in her head, to assess his personality and to turn him from a couple words and pictures printed on a page into a living, breathing human.

She pushes her lips forwards and turns her eyes into slits, her look of authority, the look that got her to Supervisory Special Agent at the age of twenty-nine.

"Let me make things more clear for you, _Hook_ ," she says with disdain. "I am Special Agent Emma Swan. I work for the FBI and the only services I'll be needing from you are those that have to do with computers. So, will you accept my offer?"

"And why would I do that?" he questions arrogantly. "To have a meager salary to live off? I'm sorry, lass, but I do prefer the money I'm earning now."

Of course the only thing he can think of is money. She hasn't even shared how much he would earn and it's already too little, too inadequate for Captain Hook. But she expected this to happen. Money isn't the way to convince him, but from what she's noticed by peering around, something else might.

"First of all: I'm not a girl, I'm a woman and second of all: do you mean all of the money you're not spending?" she inquires, motioning to the spartan surroundings, to the empty walls and empty cabinets. "Look, Jones, I can't offer you a lot of money or fame," she admits, "but I can offer you something you clearly don't have right now."

"And what is that?" His lips form a snide grimace.

"A purpose," Emma tells him. "Something to do for the greater good. The guy I'm trying to arrest is bad; he's done a lot of terrible things to people and he still hasn't paid for it. If you were to agree, you would make a major difference. You would actually make the world a better place instead of only thinking of yourself and only picking your victims because you have something to gain out of it. You can be a part of something or you can just stay behind your computer in your empty apartment and be alone."

"You're quite passionate, Swan." His eyes move over her face, assessing her, trying to figure her out. Her speech must've worked, must've incited something inside of him as the hostility shifts into something more neutral.

"Some say that's why I'm so good at doing my job. Are you in?" she questions.

She doesn't let him see her nervousness, the slight clench of her teeth and the layer of sweat gathering on the palm of her hands, but it's there. Along with the understanding that he really is her last hope. Emma can try a hundred other approaches to try and solve this case, but they will all be the same, not one of them will be drastic enough to make a difference. Hook will be.

"Aye." Their eyes connect. "I will need to see some more details, but aye."

Her heart makes a jump of happiness. She is on the right path, one step closer to getting sleazy Gold locked up.

"If you want and if you're not too sleepy–" she jabs about his outfit of choice, "–my coworker and I can take you to the FBI HQ in Boston right now."

"Can I just clarify that a lot of my clients live abroad and that I have an unusual sleeping schedule to respond to their needs."

"Okay." Emma sounds unconvinced. "I don't really care, Hook. Are you coming to the HQ with us? I'll make sure you're home on time but seeing that you have _an unusual sleeping schedule_ ," her fingers form air quotes, "I can't see how that could be a problem."

"Oh, you're a tough lass, aren't you?" His question is accompanied by a grin that betrays his enquiry as more of the rhetorical kind.

She rolls her eyes. "Go change. The car is downstairs." Emma leaves him alone, making her way back to David and already damning herself for being hellbent on hiring this guy. Hook was going to make her regret it, of that she was already certain.

* * *

"So, do you think you can agree with these conditions?"

Emma looks at Hook for an answer. He occupies the place opposite hers, the chair he sits on smaller, less luxurious, and directed towards the plaque that bears her name. All small reminders of who is in charge.

"I think I can, lass–" Jones suddenly halts and he corrects himself, "–boss, I meant. Apologies."

It seems to work. He is learning to behave, to respect her and her superiority. Good. Maybe this collaboration isn't going to be such a challenge as she first feared.

"Great." Emma files the papers into the folder, the sheets rustling as they slide over one another. She thumbs through the pages one last time to make sure everything is present and hands him the maroon binder when she concludes that the paperwork is complete. "Go home, read the contract," Emma orders. "You'll be expected to visit HR sometime tomorrow, so they can take care of the legal side. After you get their clear, you are in."

"Thank you, Swan."

The gratitude in his face, in the slight curl of his lips and the softness of his eyes, strikes her. It makes breathing just that little bit harder. He's staring at the bland colored dossier as if it contains the most valuable content, a cure of all the diseases in the world, a secret to the happiness in life. Emma senses the drift of his gaze which falls onto her. She is his salvation, his savior, or at least his expression conveys that impression. To think that just a couple of hours ago, he was completely against the idea. What changed? How and why did Killian Jones go through an intense transformation in just the span of five hours?

"Don't thank me yet," she speaks courtly and grabs some paperwork to keep her hands and, most importantly, her mind busy.

* * *

He follows her instructions meticulously, stands at her desk the next morning, paperwork signed, a green light from HR in his hands and a proud smile on his face. It makes Emma wonder; what time did he get up to have driven all the way from Maine to Boston? She assigns him a desk, the tiny one next to Tink's, with just enough space for a screen, keyboard and a mouse – everything he would need for this job – and lets the petite blonde fill him in about the essentials he has to know. Emma can think of a better way to spend her busy time.

Emma gets about twenty minutes of good, solid, uninterrupted work until her door suddenly swings open. Her annoyed look leaves her screen and is on its way to the intruder but it dissolves immediately as she sees who burst into her office. Mills, in all of her regality, stands at the door.

"Agent Swan, a word?" The woman's severe posture removes any air of choice. This was not a request, this was an order, an obligation.

They've never had the best dynamic, she and Regina. She joined the Bureau when Mills just got her promotion to Headquarters Supervisor and, as luck would have it, Emma almost got killed during her second week. Nothing regarding that incident could actually be blamed on Emma; the additional agents were stuck in traffic; their target figured out that his date wasn't really looking for a fun night; he wasn't supposed to be carrying a gun but he was and she got shot in the shoulder (it was a minor wound and what hurt Emma the most was the red stain on her favorite dress she never was able to get rid of).

So, Mills hates her and she can't really stand Mills (though she does have massive respect for the woman, for being a trailblazer and for making Emma's life in a man-centered world a little bit easier—not a lot because it is still the FBI she's talking about).

If Mills came out of her tower and into her office instead of Emma going upstairs and reporting on any progress, it means trouble. Big trouble. The black raven clearly reached the queen.

"Yes, Ms. Mills?"

"Do tell me why you thought it necessary to bring someone from the outside, someone without any training, to work on one of our most important cases?" Her arms are crossed across her chest, burgundy polished nails impatiently tapping against the black fabric of her tight, cut-out couture dress.

"I needed his expertise," is her simple explanation, but it isn't a good enough reason for Mills.

"And you couldn't find that in one of our own IT specialists?" Her perfectly shaped eyebrow arches.

"No," Emma answers earnestly, frowning and shaking her head. "Not what he has."

"What he has is a hook."

Which is why Captain Hook is his hacker name. Emma is quite happy that that's the reasoning behind it and not some creepy, borderline psychotic obsession with fairytales. She noticed the hook the minute he opened the door back in Storybrooke, but it didn't matter. It still doesn't. Why would it matter?

"So? I fail to see the importance of that. Having one hand will not affect his knowledge or talent."

Emma is aware of Regina's hatred towards her defensiveness, towards those situations when she fights with everything she's got against her boss. They're both powerful women but when it comes to stubbornness, Emma takes the crown, no doubt about it. It's that defiance that spurs Regina to go even further into forbidden territory. The woman would never let her have the last word, at least not voluntarily.

"You are certain this doesn't have to do with certain other assets he has."

"Excuse me?" Emma's voice rises with her disbelief. "What exactly are you insinuating?"

Emma doesn't give her boss the time to reveal what she was insinuating, as she already knows. She wants to defend Jones, wants to keep his whole being from being reduced to pretty looks and the lack of his left hand. He's more than that and he deserves more than that.

"I do my job with dedication and perseverance and I do my job well, Ms. Mills," she says with conviction. "Even though you are my supervisor, I will not tolerate this. Jones is here because the Bureau needs him, and because he is the only way of solving this case and that's where it ends."

Not able to stomach her boss anymore, she storms out of her own office. Mills won't appreciate that, but she frankly doesn't care about Mills right this second. Tension is rising inside of her and the only way to release some pressure is a smoke. It's a bad habit, she knows, one she tries to limit but sometimes the ache in her body screams for it.

The outside air is crisp, tingling against her cheeks and erecting the small hairs on her skin. A spark instigates the flame of the lighter and it scorches the tip of the cigarette. She takes a long drag, the warmth fighting against the cold air, and releases the smoke again.

"You do know smoking causes all kinds of diseases, right?"

The voice startles her, forces her to stop absentmindedly staring at the gray gravel beneath her feet and makes her look up. Jones stands next to her, his hand lingering on the door handle, as if he is hesitant to join and ready to retreat if necessary,

"Shouldn't you be hacking something?"

"Oh, they didn't tell you? I guessed Gold's password. It was 1234. Et voila, access granted."

"Jones, please," she begs, closing her eyes while doing so. "I'm trying to relax here and you are not helping me in the slightest."

"Sorry."

There's something in her demeanor, her words that must reassure him or give him permission to stay because his hand releases the metal knob and he approaches her. Emma highly doubts that he read her correctly.

He leans against the wall she stands against as well, crossing his legs and arms, and scans her. She doesn't like the feeling. He's only known her for two days and it feels like he's already figured out most of the riddles to her heart.

"So what's bothering you?"

Emma purses her lips to let some smoke escape. "Regina." Her lungs fill with fresh air again. "Mills, I mean."

"I haven't had the honor to make her acquaintance yet, but Tink told me some stories."

"Oh, she'll definitely summon you at some point. Probably to yell at you. She does that a lot," Emma shares.

"Hmm. What did she do to you?"

"It wasn't really something she did." Her shoulders go up in a shrug and she stops talking until his hand encourages her to continue. "She thought it necessary to question if you had all of the qualities to do this job."

Emma doesn't delve into it further, knowing he'll struggle with being deemed as less.

"Ah, the hook," he figures out himself and Emma doesn't have it in her to lie and deny that that was what they discussed earlier. A self-deprecating huff follows and in the blink of an eye, his look of hurt evolves into something else, but the hurt was there, nevertheless.

"Yeah," she says softly. Emma doesn't want to linger in this gloom, this dark cloud of deficiency surrounding them, so she continues her tale. "Then she proceeded with doubting if I hadn't just hired you to have some personal eye candy."

It works as Jones barks a laugh.

"Well, I am devilishly handsome."

He waggles his eyebrows and the urge to roll her eyes rises again but she fights against it by taking another drag.

"Yeah," she reacts mindlessly, "but that has nothing to do with this."

The corners of his mouth suddenly widen, baring his teeth in a big smile. Why is he smiling? She throws him a questioning look before what she had just said dawns on her. She admitted that he is handsome. Which he is, anyone with eyes can see that but that doesn't mean he needs to know it.

"Hook, please don't start. I'm not in the mood," she cuts him off before he can even begin.

"I won't." His hook and hand go up to assure her. "Don't let Regina get you down, love, and definitely don't worry about me."

Worry... about him. She is. So much. More than is appropriate. It's the first time he has called her love, the first time she's heard his accent wrap around the syllable and a strange feeling stirs inside of her. Oh god. What if she becomes the female version of Graham? Constantly worrying about him and wanting to protect him and– No, this can't happen. The only people she has such an urge to protect are her son and her best friends. That's all and those are the only ones she should want to protect. Suddenly this random guy she's known for two days stands at the gate of her walls, ready to enter if he's granted a key. She can't. Emma abruptly buds out her cigarette and opens the heavy door to return inside, leaving him in the little courtyard.

* * *

Emma examines the large room, supervising the work being done by her employees. It's more quiet and empty than it usually is but that can be blamed on the additional training some of them were summoned to. Jones sits behind his desk, sipping some coffee from the mug that fits perfectly in his hook and enthusiastically typing with his free hand. He's been here for a week and clearly feels at home already. Her attention still on him, Emma walks towards another desk.

"Humbert," she requests Graham's attention. "How's the new guy doing?

"Jones?" She nods to confirm. "I don't like him. He spends way too much time flaunting his looks around."

For a split second, Emma isn't sure if she wants to laugh or groan. A mixture of both would be fine too.

"Graham, I mean how is he doing his job?" she stresses.

"You should ask Tink. She's the one spending all of her time with him."

"Okay." A frown appears on Emma's forehead. "I'll ask her when she returns from her training."

Too confused to directly go back to work, Emma diverts herself to the courtyard for a smoke. The sun is out, sending warmth towards her and it elicits a smile on her lips. A smile that doesn't last long because she hears the door thud shut and sees Jones joining her again.

"Jones, why are you always here? You don't even smoke," she asks exasperatedly, lighting her cigarette.

"If you can take a break so can I," he says and she can't really deny that he is right. "Besides, the weather is very nice, can't hurt to spend some time outside." She can't deny that he's right again.

They stand in silence, Emma inhaling smoke and Jones fiddling with his hook.

"What's up with Humbert?" he asks out of the blue.

"What do you mean?" Emma lowers her eyebrows.

He turns to her, leans his weight against the wall on only one shoulder instead of two. "Every time you come close to me, he starts staring daggers. He looks at you as if you're the sun. Do I need to continue?"

He doesn't and he knows it.

"Oh that," her simple reaction sounds. "Yeah, I know. I'm trying to handle it."

"You're not interested?"

She softly shakes her head. It isn't as if Graham is ugly or unkind or such a terrible person. He is far from any of that. There simply isn't a spark, no connection to make her fingers tingle or her heart beat faster.

"He's a good friend but nothing more. And even if I was, I'm his boss, Mills would not appreciate that. At all. Plus, dating is just difficult in my line of work."

How does he keep easing her into opening up? Her lips have to remain shut, nothing else can come out and be handed to him on a silver platter.

"Have you ever even been in love?" he asks and while Emma was expecting the question, she also wasn't.

"No, I've never been in love." It's not even close to the truth but he doesn't need to know that. "This job is more than enough to handle," she diverts the subject.

His attentive eyes observe her for some time, the intense feeling causing prickles that run up her spine and multiply all through her body. She brings the cigarette back to her lips to distract herself from the feeling and to delude him into thinking that she remains unaffected by the brilliant blue of his irises.

"You're not who you pretend to be." His head tilts as it moves from left to right.

"You don't know me," she reminds him and reassures herself.

"Love," he chuckles, "you're something of an open book. Regardless of the short time we have known each other, I'm quite positive I already know you better than you know yourself."

"Go to work, Jones. This case won't solve itself," she dismisses him, certain that her attempted unaffectedness won't last long.

"As you wish."

The next time she goes to smoke is postponed until she sees Jones has just returned from his lunch break, until she knows that he would not be able to join her again.

* * *

As much as Emma loves her job, she loves her free Sundays even more. A day without expectations, tension, and where the only responsibility is to make up all of the lost time with her son. It's the day where she gets to listen to Henry's enthusiastic babbling about his week and his friends and school and the new stories he has written without a single interruption.

"Swan! Swan!" someone yells.

She tries to ignore it because no one calls her that except people from work and that is exactly the type people she does not want to encounter on a Sunday, casually dressed, in a park with her son.

Henry throws her a funny look, silently asking why she's not responding but she just shakes her head. He doesn't have to worry; she's just not feeling up for it.

They continue walking, a bit faster than before but that certainly had nothing to do with the person who was yelling her name across Boston Public Garden.

"Swan." He sounds very close to her, close enough for her to recognize the British accent and low timbre. She subconsciously probably already did, hence the running away.

Except for occasional glances during work, they haven't had any contact since that one time, no more smoke breaks, no more checkups. Just nothing. And it was deliberate, at least on her part.

"You make a man work for your attention, bloody hell," Jones says out of breath.

"Language please," she scolds, immediately falling back into her superior officer role.

He looks at her with furrowed brow; she never really minded a bad word or two, especially since she tends to go into raging rants when things didn't go as they should. Emma uses her eyes to guide his gaze to her son partially hidden behind her as she protectively stands before him.

"Sorry, lad, I hadn't seen you right there."

Henry shrugs with a small smile on his face. Reluctantly, Emma has to admit that she swears at home as well, too much. Henry, smart kid that he is, introduced a swear jar and since then his weekly allowance is systematically doubled every week.

"Henry Swan, nice to meet you," her kid says while extending his hand.

He is growing up so fast.

"Killian Jones." He grabs Henry's smaller hand – but the difference is minimal – and gives it a good shake. "I work with your mother."

"So you work at the cupcake shop as well?" Henry peers up, the innocence beaming out of his big brown eyes.

"Um… aye." Killian scratches behind his ear. "Aye," he says more determinedly. "I work... as one of the bakers. I make a mean chocolate cake."

Henry looks up at her again, barely because he's almost as tall as she is, and there's a beat before they both start laughing, freely and uncontrolled. The laughter ripples through her, the movement causing her locks to dance.

Jones' confused and curious gaze jumps back and forth between the two of them, looking for an explanation to be able to join their amusement.

"I know my mom works for the FBI," Henry helps him with a wide grin.

The fit passes and Emma takes a deep breath to recover, lets the oxygen enter through her nose and lets the carbon dioxide leave through her mouth.

"Nice one, kid." Turning towards him, she raises her hand and Henry immediately catches on as his palm hits hers only seconds after she does.

"Bad form fooling someone you've just met but well played, lad, well played," Killian compliments him.

Henry seems to enjoy the verbal pat on the back and the pride makes him straighten his shoulders and stand a bit taller. Yet again, Emma is overcome with motherly feels. Damn these Sundays.

"So…" As an effort to keep the overly emotional mom tears at bay, she addresses Jones. "What are you doing here?"

"As you might derive from my outfit of choice, Swan, I'm engaged in some physical diversion."

A simple question with a possible, easy one-word answer and of course, he had to respond with the most Britishly-posh sentence she has ever heard.

Emma hadn't even noticed his shirt, or shorts, or the earbuds in his hand. So transfixed on the light in his eyes and the curl of his lips that she looked past the beads of sweat lingering on his forehead and the footwear that is unacceptable in any situation except for the one that involves some kind of sport.

"You don't think I can keep my handsomeness without working for it?" he adds with a wink when she fails to reply.

"Jones." Her eyes flutter shut as she sighs. He's incorrigible. "I don't really go around thinking about that."

Only occasionally. Late at night. When she was all alone. After she'd consumed a couple of glasses of Merlot. It's her own little secret no one really needs to know about and definitely no one in her company right now.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, Henry and I are going to get some cupcakes." Her hand settles on her son's shoulder, ready to lead him away from Jones, but Henry shies away from her touch. Before she can ask what he's up to, he directs himself to Killian.

"Excuse my mother's poor manners, Mr. Jones," Henry says. "What she means is: would you like to join us for Sunday cupcakes?"

"Henry!"

They are not inviting Captain Hook to happily have Sunday cupcakes, their sacred ritual, with them. The lines between her business life and her personal one are already starting to blur because of Killian Jones; Emma doesn't need her son to give him permission to casually step over it.

"Mom." His eyebrows quirk up, challenging her.

"Next time, maybe," Jones politely declines, interfering in their conversation via stares. "It wouldn't feel right if I ate more calories than I burned during this workout. I appreciate the offer, however, and please, call me Killian."

"That's too bad." The insincerity of her words is palpable. "We best get going Henry if we want to make it in time for the movie later."

"Young man. Swan," Jones acknowledges them both with a brief nod. "Enjoy your Sunday." His hand gathers the earbuds hanging from his collar and in that moment, she notices that his hook is gone and his blunted wrist is bare for the first time in a month. The silvery scars reflect in the sunlight and the ache quelches her heart.

"You too, Killian!" Henry yells, breaking Emma out of her abstraction just in time to see Killian run in the opposite direction.

When he's out of sight, Henry gives her a look.

"What?"

"Nothing, mom. Nothing." But he sounds a smidge too exasperated for her to believe him.

* * *

The succession of several warm, sunny, slightly breezy days announces the official start of spring and the end of staying holed up inside with three layers of clothing. Emma decided to utilize this gorgeous weather to consume her lunch outside, in a park bench with sunglasses and sunscreen, somewhere far away from Mills, and Humbert, and Jones.

"Coincidence meeting you here, Swan."

He towers over Emma, stands in the middle of the path of the sunlight to her. The rays are creating his own personal aura while he casts a shadow over her.

Someone must be fucking kidding her right now. How do they keep running into each other? How does he keep finding her everywhere? She is trying to keep her distance, to do the right thing; why does the universe keep making them encounter one another?

"I'm on the verge of having a headache, Jones. Please, don't make it worse."

"Do you want me to get some painkillers?" he gallantly offers, a worried crease between his brows.

"No, I'll survive." She was only slightly exaggerating

"You're on your lunchbreak?"

"Yeah." Emma rearranges her blonde locks. "You too?

"Aye." He awkwardly stares around, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Sit down, Jones," Emma says. "I give you permission."

Looking slightly too relieved, Jones takes a seat next to her on the wooden bench, keeping a respectable distance between his body and hers.

Emma continues to munch on her fruit salad, fishing out a grape and popping it into her mouth. He takes a bite of his sandwich, his eyes trained on the patch of flowers dancing along the wind's song.

"Can I ask you something?" The question is hesitant and comes out slightly stuttered.

He nods.

Emma nibbles on her lower lip.

"Last week when you ran into Henry and me, you weren't wearing your hook."

It isn't really a question, Emma realizes after ending her sentence. She doesn't add to her statement, that would only make things more uncomfortable, simply hopes he understands what she wants to know.

"I tend to take it off more ever since you summoned me." She tries to not let that mention of her, of how she changed him settle into her heart, but it does, regardless. "Before, I would just go running with the prosthetic hand I have, but I left that back in my apartment in Storybrooke on purpose. Boston is less prone to judging, I suppose. More open minded and people gossip less than in such a small town. Typing and writing code goes easier with the hook, so that's all I really need."

Emma hums. There's a little desire to ask him how he lost the hand. His file has a section about it but it was very brief and lacked any sort of clarity. She doesn't ask though, because she knows he's probably sick of talking about it and done with nosy, prying people.

The silence returns, the only sound their chewing and the wind softly swaying.

"My brother Liam–" he starts unexpectedly, "–was the one who raised me. Our parents left, because they were forced by illness in my mother's case or just because they didn't care enough to stay in my father's case. So he, a fifteen-year-old boy, decided to raise a ten-year-old, purely on character. Liam was my hero," Killian says with the utmost respect.

"We struggled every day of every month for years. He was old enough to join the Navy so he did and I followed him a couple of years later. We went on several missions and after a while, we decided to slow down a bit to teach the new recruits. With our salaries, we saved enough to buy a boat; she was small but she was ours.

"Three months later, the boat's engine malfunctioned in the middle of the ocean and caused an explosion. Liam died, I lost my hand. The boat's manufacturer was at fault; they were the one to blame but their attorneys found a way to shove the blame onto Liam, claiming that he wasn't fit to command a boat, that he had a drinking problem and anger issues. He didn't though." He shakes his head.

"Liam was a good man; the best I knew. I didn't get a settlement, but was left with all of the bills while learning to cope with living with one hand. It wasn't even about the money for me. They tarnished my brother's reputation; they smeared the legacy of someone who died way too young because they made a mistake. I got a dishonorable discharge from the Navy for insubordination. I was livid and that's when I spiraled. I drank so much and eventually, I realized that it wasn't helping one bit. That I wasn't going to be able to avenge Liam by getting drunk every day. So, I started scheming. I watched the company's movements like a hawk. I was able to hack the plans of the boat where it clearly states that the materials they were using were not suitable and lacking. The company was sued, fined, had to repay all of the victims, and bankrupted." A sigh escapes his lips.

Despite the sunny weather, chills are running up and down her arms, leaving goosebumps in their path. Fuck. Emma doesn't know how she's supposed to feel. There are several emotions colliding with each other inside of her right now. Pity, but she knows Killian won't want that from her. Grief, but how can she grieve someone she's never met? Hatred is the only emotion that isn't limited; hatred towards the world that has treated him so wrongly.

"Why did you continue? With the hacking?"

"I had my revenge, but it didn't bring Liam back. It didn't take away that grief. And I was good at it, so I might as well make some money off of it."

Emma makes a small sound of understanding, of empathy. She truly gets it.

"What about you?" Killian asks. "I'm sure your journey to being one of the Bureau's finest at such a young age must've been a special one as well."

"Depends on what your definition of special is."

He simply raises his eyebrows, a sign for her to stop beating around the bush and start telling her tale.

"I was abandoned as a baby on the side of the road and I went from group home to foster family and then back to group homes. I worked my ass off to be able to go to college where I studied social sciences because I wanted to help kids like me. Then I met my dick ex-boyfriend, who tried to frame me for some robbery he committed. I nearly went to jail but luckily the FBI figured out that he had committed large-scale robberies in other states as well and I was released. Discovered I was pregnant due to my dick ex-boyfriend, gave birth to my son. That's when I switched to Criminology and started dreaming of a career with the Bureau. I finished college while raising my son, applied, went to training, had an amazing best friend who took care of Henry, got accepted and worked my ass off again. And that's my very intriguing tale," she ends, summarizing thirty years into one, rattled timeline.

Killian stares at her for a moment to process her hasty words before he gently smiles.

"And I thought you were an impressive woman before. Swan, you are _incredible_."

* * *

"Swan." Killian barges through her office door. He looks shocked, his chest heaving and his eyes wide.

Emma jumps up. "What's– What's wrong?" she asks, thinking and expecting the worst.

Suddenly a huge grin breaks out on his face, like the sun unexpectedly appearing from behind a cloud bank, warming her face and bringing a smile to her lips as well.

"I did it." His shoulders shake with the rumble of his laugh. "I've solved the case."

"You did what?" Her jaw drops and she leans forwards. "Holy fuck! Killian. Show me now."

In four quick strides, he bridges the distance between the door and her desk, the exact distance between him and her. A couple of clicks brings him to where he wants to be.

She watches him animatedly explain all his steps, his hand and hook sculpting the story before her eyes. She isn't really listening, not with her full attention, because her eyes can't stop being drawn to the shine in his irises and the smile embellishing his mouth and the dimple in his cheek.

His summary ends and he stares at her expectantly, waiting for her next move. It should be congratulations or a handshake or something appropriate among colleagues, but it isn't. Emma places her hands on his cheeks and pulls him closer, creating an encounter of their lips. It takes him two seconds, not that she counted, to figure out what they're doing and to act on it. He kisses her back with as much passion, as much fervor as she did. His hook feels cold against the skin of her back. It's a welcome cool touch against her burning skin, however. Killian's thumb is tracing circles on her hipbone. His teeth tug on her lip, the sting turning her on even more. Emma moans, tightening her arms around him and letting her hands wander through his hair.

They're forced to break apart when they're in dire need for air and reality comes crashing down as they do. She's his boss, they're in her office, he's going to leave. When did she ever start believing in fairytales again? There was a reason she had given them up. They only lead to disappointment and heartbreak.

"That was…"

"A mistake." She gently shakes her head to come to her senses. "I'll– I'll go inform Mills." Eyes directed to the ground, she leaves him.

Emma decides to visit the restroom first. A good thing she does. Pupils blown wide, lips swollen with a little discoloration where Killian was a bit too enthusiastic, hair a mess, blouse out of her skirt; she looks absolutely fuckstruck. Her heart is pounding one hundred miles an hour. It feels as if her chest is about to break under the pressure. She tries to slow her heartbeat down, splashes some water on her face, neatly tucks her blouse back; it all seems pretty useless but at least it makes her think it makes a difference.

She knocks on the ebony door.

"What is it?" Regina asks.

Emma understands the underlying invitation to enter. She opens the door slowly because the fear isn't completely gone.

"Jones solved the Gold case," she announces.

"He did what?" For the first time in her six years working with Mills, she seems to have run out of words, no more witty comebacks or sarcastic quips. "How?"

"There was a lot of technical stuff involved that I don't understand, but I checked and we have full access to everything. He did it."

"Well," Mills responds. "He was hired to."

Emma lets out an inaudible sigh. Regina is never going to change. Killian deserves a compliment; hell, she deserves a compliment for hiring him but Regina isn't the person they are going to get it from. She gives up and returns to her own office. This has to be done, she has to face him now and then it's all over.

"So," he says, his eyes lighting up when she enters again and his smile soft and dreamy, still carrying the effects of their kiss.

"So," she replies.

"I guess this puts an end to our cooperation."

"It does."

"Swan." Her name is a sigh on his lips, full of reluctance.

"The FBI will forever be grateful for your addition to this investigation." She summons all of her courage, all of her strength to play the part of detached and cold agent.

It's not difficult to see his worry, to discern the bewilderment in his expression.

"Swan."

Perhaps he thinks repeating her name will spark something inside of her, make her remember. It's an idle attempt; she won't crack because if there's one thing Emma Swan is, it's determined.

"You made a major difference and without your expertise, a criminal would continue to roam this country," Emma continues.

Avoiding his gaze, she stares at the table, the wall, the stain on the ceiling, anything except for him.

"Emma."

Finally, she looks up and distinguishes the plea in his eyes, the plea not to do this, to let him stay, to at least try. Her eyelids shut and she shakes her head, denying him his wish. Killian will understand and knowing him, he'll grant her hers. She doesn't want him to leave, she wants him to stay; she wants to hear his laugh and talk with him. But she doesn't have the right to; he has a life back in Storybrooke. A relationship here would be doomed. So she lets him leave.

* * *

"Tink?" The small blonde turns around at the call of her name. "Can you transfer that security tape of Fiona Schwarzenberg pushing that kid off the stairs to me? I have to send it to Judge Blue. She needs it to grant us a warrant.

"Coming right away!" she sprightly replies.

"Thanks!"

Emma sits down in her chair and hears the notification of a new message in her mail only five seconds later. Tink meant the right away part. She looks through the footage again, making sure it's the right part and starts crafting her email to the Judge, telling the story of the criminal, how she stole babies in poor countries and sold them to wealthy Americans looking to adopt.

There's a light knocking, so subdued that she wonders for a minute if she didn't just imagine it.

The door opens and before her stands a man she hasn't seen in a month; the real version at least because every time his absence started to tinge too much, she squelched the ache by imagining him, his laugh, the way he spoke. It helped, sometimes.

"Jones?"

This is the real him, however, breathing and with a pulse, not just a duplication made by her memory.

"Did you miss me?" His stupid expressive eyebrows go up.

"What're you doing here?" she asks, shaking her head and not understanding why he is in Boston. He should be in quaint, little, fairytale Storybrooke, living his quiet hacker life.

"I've been here for a while. I was waiting until you took your smoke break to surprise you."

"Oh, well you would've waited a while. I quit," Emma explains.

"Really?" He looks pleasantly surprised.

"Yeah. But that doesn't really answer my question. Why are you here?" Emma stands up and circles around her desk.

"It seemed that Regina was in dire need of my services again."

It isn't surprising that they communicated if Mills wanted to hire him but it still stings. She was the one that consulted August, drove to Storybrooke, hired Jones, fought relentlessly and it earned her a lot of angry Mills. She was the link between them.

"And is Regina the only reason you returned?" She sounds desperate but she needs to know if she fucked everything up beyond repair last month, if there's only the tiniest bit of hope

Emma spent days fluctuating between "it was the right thing to do" and "it was the most stupid thing to do". She almost called him nineteen times and considered driving to Storybrooke six times, but in the end, the anxiety won and she did nothing.

"That and certain Special Agent I missed. Seeing that Regina moved me into Nolan's team, you're not my boss anymore and I hoped that that would change some things. Give me another chance."

"If anyone should be given another chance, it's me," Emma admits. "I ruined everything last time."

"I'd be happy to forgive you if you agreed to go on a date with me."

"Sure," she says nonchalantly. "Coincidence would have it that my lunch break is coming up in twenty minutes."

"That is very convenient indeed." Killian smiles and he comes closer to her. "Maybe we could even stop by your cupcake shop to get something sweet?"

"My cupcake shop? Where did you get that idea?"

Their hands touch and fingers intertwine.

"Hmmm, I would not know."

"Swan, Jones, stop flirting with each other," someone commands, making them both turn towards the open door and Mills standing in the hallway. "FBI stands for Federal Bureau of Investigation, not Flirting Bunch of Investigators."

"And that's my cue to leave," Killian decides, his hand still firmly holding her. His hook gently brushes a lock away from her face. "I'll see you in twenty." Before leaving and closing the door behind him, he winks causing Emma to giggle. No doubt about it, she is going to grant him the key.

* * *

 **I'm curious about what you think :)**


	17. seatimes (1)

She stumbled upon Seatimes as she was researching a case. The skip was a selfish, misogynistic prick that wore Lacoste polos tied around his neck, a $200-dollar salmon-colored shirt, and a pair of shoes that was probably worth twice, if not thrice, the amount of money his shirt cost. He got thrown into holding for embezzlement of his own company's funds, owned an actual boat and still ran away from every attempt made to make him settle up; he kept and kept on refusing to pay his bail. And so, Emma was brought into the picture.

Following his movements, both real life and online, like a hawk, Emma came to the conclusion that the rich, embezzling jackass was in search of someone to cheat on his wife with. He wasn't even trying to be coy about his search for a mistress. Every picture on the account he had set up on some sleazy dating site were either of his precious boat or of him bare-chested and holding in his stomach on his precious boat.

Not a lot more backstory was needed to figure out the way to crack this case. Emma had to become the woman of all women to him. The one that, unlike all the rest of womankind according to him, had knowledge of boats and how currents worked, and all of that and not to forget a pretty face and nice figure. Luck would have it that Mother Nature and a lot of exercise had granted Emma the latter but the former… not so much.

She sadly– not very sadly if it meant staying clear of Mr. Douchebag– belonged to the general, uninteresting part of her gender, so she was forced to gain a life worth of knowledge in a short period of time. Three days to be more exact, because her skip had agreed to a date in four. Three days to become an expert.

 _"Welcome to Seatimes. I am Jones. Consider me your Captain to cross the wild and murky waters of naval and maritime knowledge. Each week will feature a guest as well as some must know things about the soaring seas and the ship sailing them. I hope that by the end of these podcasts, you will consider yourselves more of an expert on the subject."_

* * *

She tried it on her own in the beginning; her eyes skimmed the internet for reliable sources and when those turned out to be pure gibberish to her, she attempted to read every possible Wikipedia page. Emma read about ships and currents and flags and boats and every other thing that had to do with the sea. It was an overload; a tidal wave of content Emma's brain hadn't been able to thoroughly prepare for. The matter entered and seeped back out, only leaving behind small traces of its presence. The typed letters on her bright screen started to blur and the all the remaining information began to collide with each other, the internal battle creating, even more, chaos than resided before.

Emma needed to switch tactics, to come up with a different game plan for this case or her cover would come into deep waters. Her mouse clicked on tons of links and her cursor browsed various videos and articles, but none were to Emma's liking. Either they treated her as a child, explaining everything in a sugary, condescending voice, or they click baited her into picking a video and then persisted to talk about something completely different. Frustration arose and she was this close to giving up until a link on page twelve of Google's results caught her eye. The site was simply called Seatimes and the description talked about a maritime podcast. Perhaps this would manage to remind her which side was port and which one was starboard.

 _"The confusion between_ port _board and starboard is amusing, to say the least. I can't tell you how many a tourist I've seen completely freeze and just stare at me with wide eyes when I mention one of them. I completely understand, however, that if the difference isn't embedded into your head from a young age like left and right are, you get confused. I always remember the little mnemonic that my brother taught me when I was a little lad and that was that drinking a lot of port never made you feel right, but being a star did. So,_ port _board is left and starboard is right."_

* * *

Mr. Douchebag had completely fallen for her act, had stared at her with an amazed and slightly turned on gaze as Emma excitedly talked about coastal navigation and how using charts was better than using a GPS. The job had been smooth sailing; the perp overpowered and imprisoned in no time. It was one of the easiest ones she had ever had, her cover fitting her perfectly (like her dress), and a lot of that, if not all, could be attributed to Seatimes. It had taken Emma one day to listen to seventeen episodes and each one had her yearning for more. She was eager to learn, something that she hadn't experienced for years. So, even though the case had been closed and sealed, Seatimes became a part of Emma's weekly routine.

It even became the highlight of her week. Forty minutes a week were completely dedicated to Seatimes. No distractions; just Emma, a muted phone, her computer and a glass of wine.

The doorbell rang, and rang again since Emma decided to ignore the sound, preferring Jones' British cadence over it. No interruptions. After a third ring, a familiar voice drifted through her door and into her apartment.

"Emma!" Emma sighed and forcefully pressed pause. "I know that you're home; your Bug is out front."

A groan escaped; there was no going back now. Mary Margaret was, as the relentless ringing had already betrayed, an adamant woman. Emma threw her head back, her locks flying around with the jolt. She loved her best friend dearly, but how did she not understand that if Emma wasn't opening the door, there probably was an underlying reason. Like her sacred Seatimes times.

With hasty steps, she approached the door and swung it open. It revealed Mary Margaret, a small smile on her lips and hands folded over her protruding belly.

"What?" Emma greeted, her tone not welcoming at all and her word choice quite curt.

"You could be a bit more kind to a pregnant woman." Her raven-haired friend raised an unamused eyebrow.

Emma supposed that Mary Margaret was right and that she could be more kind, or at least less pissed off.

"I'm sorry, Mary Margaret, please come on in." Her hand gestured to her apartment as the guilt crept up on her.

"I was just joking," Mary Margaret assured as she entered. "It's totally alright. Sorry to barge in."

Emma shrugged in response, showing that it was quite alright.

"What were you doing?" The curiosity filled the room as Mary Margaret peered around. She found it void of any other people or proof something suspicious was taking place and turned back to Emma.

"I was just listening to a podcast," she answered. "Relaxing."

Emma didn't know if her friend had noticed the small jab in her answer.

"So nothing much," was Mary Margaret's conclusion. "Good. I'm here to ask you if you'd like to visit an art gallery a friend of mine is opening. She's really talented and it's supposed to be one of the most hyped events of the month," she explained with excitement, bouncing on the ball of her feet.

Emma's response came instantaneously; she didn't need any time to think about it or consider going.

"No, thanks. I think I'll pass."

Her friend clearly wasn't expecting that answer as she looked confused.

"Emma." Her brow creased and her mouth was set in a discontent scowl.

"I don't feel like going out today," she tried to reason. She usually didn't feel like it, the coziness of her home beating any overtly loud and awkward socializing, but especially today (and every other Wednesday), it was out of the question.

"But there's going to be free food and free drinks. If I can't take advantage of free alcohol, you definitely should."

Emma shook her head, already bracing herself for what would follow. She knew what this meant, declining one of her offers yet again. She would receive one of Mary Margaret's 'way too invested in your social life best friend' speechesTM

"Emma," she began speaking, her tone motherly and at the same time disciplining. "You should go out more. Meet new people. Start dating again."

There was no use. Not since Walsh had completely destroyed her last remnant of hope towards love by cheating on her while they were engaged. Why keep putting herself out there, keep taking part in pleasantries that lead to nowhere? Why should she continue risking her heart if it never worked out?

"I'm not like you, Mary Margaret. I'm not social and bubbly and whatever else belongs to your characteristics," Emma specified. "There's no use in trying to get me to go places. I need a break of at least a year from life, because it's frankly quite exhausting and I want to catch my breath. Everything's fine how it is. I don't need love."

 _"My only love is the Sea, Eric."_

 _"Jones, don't hold it against me that I'm married."_

 _"I'm not. I'm not. As some of you might know Eric's wife is professional swimmer Ariel Andersen. I would imagine that she understands your dedication to the sea and your research."_

 _"She does. She is my biggest fan. I recently even named_ an algae _I discovered after her."_

 _"Did she feel honored that there's now, of everything in the very deep sea,_ an algae _with her name floating around?"_

 _"I wouldn't call it particularly honored. Disgruntled is another word for it."_

 _"As I suspected."_

* * *

Weeks passed and she kept listening. At this point, Emma wasn't fooling herself anymore. This wasn't about the content of the show, hadn't been about that for quite some time. Her attentive listening was because of Jones. His voice, the soothing melody, and his passion. Every word dripped of love for the subject, of pure enjoyment. That was what he transferred onto Emma. That was what made her tune in week after week.

Her curiosity got the best of her one day and the desire to know more about him as well. The man was an enigma, a mystery. The only thing she could derive from the podcasts was that, if his accent told her anything, he had to be UK based.

There were a lot of people that bore the name Jones across the pond and trying to find him among them would be an impossible endeavor. Emma had one last trick up her sleeve, one last asset she hadn't utilized yet; her bail bonds knowledge. Though "bail bonds knowledge" wasn't anything specific or a program she could run, it was more being persistent and scrutinizing every nook and cranny of her resources.

She checked everything but there was nothing. Every possible connection to Jones was always carefully through Seatimes. The contact email address was just called Seatimes, the site was registered on that name, the Facebook didn't have any personal mentions about the person managing the account. It was a dead end. At least she discovered that the page often posted little previews of episodes to come, so she liked it to be kept up to date.

 _"I know I've been quite secretive about who I am, where I live, what I do but that's simply because I don't think that would add anything to this podcast. A lot of listeners have sent me an email recently– which you can if you have any questions, the link is on the site– about the dangers of sailing. So, for the first time, I'm feeling inclined to share a very personal story._

 _"A couple of years ago, a younger, more carefree version of myself went out for a sail. I was boisterous back then, overconfident about my own capabilities as a sailor. A storm was predicted that day but I didn't heed the forecast's warning, I simply ignored it and continued with my plans. The storm was terrible; as terrible as the forecast had predicted it to be and I got into trouble. The boat I was on was completely wrecked and my left hand was completely crushed which lead to the stump I know have._

 _"This story isn't to scare you away from touching or setting foot on a boat ever_ again, _because I didn't. It cost me blood, sweat, and tears but I am able to live without my hand now,_ am _able to do what I love most which are sailing and making this podcast. There are dangers to sailing like to the rest of life, but a lot of them can be prevented. Be smart, listen to weather forecasts, check everything, double check everything before you leave, make sure that you are one hundred percent capable of sailing, and most importantly: be safe."_

* * *

"Happy birthday!" Mary Margaret beamed with joy, throwing her hands up in the air and welcoming Emma for a hug.

The loft that Mary Margaret shared with her husband David (and Emma's other best friend) was adorned with little lights and balloons and filled with many familiar faces.

She smiled in return, letting the happy atmosphere of her friends and family in the room catch on. Emma normally wasn't a fan of birthday parties; a small and quiet dinner usually sound far more alluring but she knew that, with turning thirty, a party would be inevitable. Surprise parties were even less enjoyable to Emma and Mary Margaret knew that, giving the birthday girl a much-appreciated heads up weeks in advance. Emma had embraced it, forced herself to not be a negative Nellie when the notorious day arrived and to actually enjoy herself.

Crossing the entire loft, she greeted everyone, thanked them for coming and flashed them brief smiles as a thank you for their birthday wishes.

Everyone was chatting, a drink in hand and some quiet music floating through the room. It was in that moment, the start of a new decade of her life that Emma decided to change, that she made a vow. To be more open again, to go out again, to stop locking herself in her apartment while she had so many people that loved her and wanted the best for her. She'd let the past control the present too much and this was the end of it.

"Alright," David interrupted Emma's thinking and the others' small conversation. "It's time for Emma to open her presents."

The room erupted into cheering and Emma felt the blush creep onto her cheeks.

"David and I'll go first," Mary Margaret announced, approaching Emma with a small blue envelope in her hands.

The couple looked at her expectantly as Emma accepted the gift and slowly opened it. Her fingers revealed a card written in Mary Margaret's swirly handwriting with only three words on it.

"The Sailing Brothers?" Her brow furrowed as she questioned the message. "What's this?"

"Well," Mary Margaret started timidly, turning the card in Emma's hands to reveal the backside. There was more written there. "I've noticed that you've been quite interested in sailing and boats lately so I thought you might enjoy a small sailing trip."

Staring at her friends, back at the blue card and back at her friends, Emma narrowed her eyes.

"How did you notice that?"

Before, Emma had been certain that her Seatimes obsession was something concealed, something locked between the four walls of her apartment.

"Facebook?" Her answer resembled more to a question. "You've been liking a lot of nautically themed posts. Was I wrong to assume you would like this? Because I can still change it if you want."

"No, no!" she protested. "It's amazing. You're both amazing."

"Oh good," Mary Margaret sighed in relief. "Just let us know when you'd like to go and we'll take care of everything. You should probably go as soon as possible, before winter truly sets and everything becomes cold. I doubt that a sail will be enjoyable when you're freezing."

 _"Honestly, I am not a winter person. There's just something far more alluring about sailing in the summer when it's warm, the sun is shining. Even though summer gets my preference, I don't stop sailing during the winter. Only when the weather forces_ me, _when it's too cold or stormy. There's just something about the cold wind racing and sweeping through your hair, coloring your cheeks that_ makes _it worthwhile._

 _"As you might've guessed; today is all about how to prepare yourself and your boat for winter."_

* * *

The more she thought about it, the more Emma had been dreading this getaway sail. It meant being alone for several hours with a random person who was supposed to teach her how everything worked. And as one might've noticed, Emma and socializing didn't usually go hand in hand.

There was her resolution, however, to be more open to new people and new things lingering in the back of her mind. Plus, she couldn't let down Mary Margaret and David by letting their probably quite expensive gift go to waste. So, after a lot of pep talking herself, Emma had chosen a date, had sent it to M's and had let her book it. This way, she'd be forced to go.

The day arrived and Emma rushed to her window, hoping the sky would be dark and gray, predicting a looming storm. The sky her eyes witnessed was anything but. It was sunny and only a few puffs of white decorated the blue background. Of course, today the weather gods decided to forget that November meant fall, not summer.

Slowly, she got dressed, ate a small breakfast and made her way to the docks. M's had texted her the address and the Bug reached the destination fifteen minutes before her sail was scheduled. Emma stayed in the car for five additional minutes, fiddling with her fingers before deciding that she had waited long enough.

A large sign told Emma that this was indeed The Sailing Brothers and she pushed the door open, triggering a bell. A man a bit older than her thirty years walked towards her with a kind smile that made crinkles appear around his blue eyes.

"Hello."

"Hi," Emma spoke. "My name is Emma Swan."

The man nodded before Emma could continue explaining that it was Mary Margaret that had booked the sail for her.

"Very nice to meet you, Ms. Swan." He offered his hand and Emma grabbed it, shortly shaking it. "My name is Liam. Welcome to The Sailing Brothers."

Emma muttered a small thanks in return, but sensed that her dread towards the trip had lessened considerably by meeting Liam and getting a glimpse of his personality. He seemed like the kind of person that wouldn't let the sail get awkward, something Emma would really appreciate.

"Mary Margaret told me this was a birthday gift." His eyebrows rose slightly, checking the piece of information with Emma and dropped again as she let out a confirming hum.

"Happy birthday to you," he congratulated before getting back to business. "The sail will take about three hours and includes an introduction to sailing, but seeing that Mary Margaret told me you're quite interested in the sea, a lot of it will probably be repetition. There are complementary drinks and snacks on board, so you need to rein yourself in." He threw her a fast wink.

Sounded like Mary Margaret to tell her entire life, her interests, and aspirations to a virtual stranger.

They had started moving, left the building and walked towards the ship Emma assumed was going to be the one they were going to use.

Suddenly, a figure appeared on the deck of the ship, carrying a rope and throwing it from one side to the other. The man was clearly preparing it to leave the docks.

Liam must've noticed Emma's curious glance as he replied to a question that was only asked in Emma's mind.

"That's my brother Killian, the actual sailing brother." He chuckled. "I take care of the business side and he gets all the fun."

It was a bit disappointing to hear that Liam wasn't going to be accompanying her on her sail. She'd just gotten used to him and was beginning to look forward to all of it.

A phone rang in the distance and it made Liam look up. His eyes moved between the small distance between the ship and Emma.

"I should probably go and get that. It was very nice to meet you, Ms. Swan. I hope you enjoy your sail."

And with that Liam left her standing alone on the docks, running back to his office to answer the ringing phone. Emma closed the previous distance and halted right before the ship. She didn't want to assume she had permission to come aboard, so she waited until she was noticed.

The wait gave her time to observe the man hastily working. His hair had the same shade as his brother's but lacked the small curls. He was muscular, the movements in his shoulders and arms betrayed that, and younger than Liam. His very defined jaw was dusted with light scruff that changed color when the sun hit it.

Killian suddenly stopped moving, his eyes settling on her, and flashed her a grin while motioning her on board. Emma let out a small, preparing breath and stepped on the wooden plank.

His eyes were blue as well and absolutely took her breath away.

Crap. The guy she was stuck on a ship with for three hours was absolutely gorgeous.

"Emma Swan, I presume?"

"That's me," she replied.

It proved far too distracting to focus on his eyes so Emma chose to lower her gaze to the floorboards instead.

"Welcome aboard."

He extended his hand and Emma tried to ignore the little jolt of electricity tha ran up her arm as their palms touched.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Killian Jones."

Emma stilled.

That voice. How he pronounced Jones. It seemed awfully familiar. She softly shook her head, trying to get rid of her feeling. It was not because his last name was Jones and that he was British, that he was that British Jones.

But she had noticed something else. Killian's left hand was missing. A metal attachment in the form of a hook replaced it. Missing a hand was a bit rarer than being called Jones and being British and the concurrence of those three was probably not very common.

"Don't worry about it, lass," Killian said, noticing her lingering eyes and holding the hook up. "I'm perfectly capable of steering the ship without it."

"No it wasn't-" Emma remonstrated. "I wasn't doubting that." She shook her head.

She should just ignore it, pretend it's a very coincidental coincidence. That he was called Jones. And was British. And he loved sailing. And he didn't have a left hand.

"Even though the weather is quite good today-" Killian continued, undeterred. "-there's quite a lot of wind today, but don't worry, wind isn't always bad. Especially when it comes to sailing." He bared his teeth in a grin. "To start your sail, I will need you to go to starboard and fetch a rope for me."

The thought that this might be Jones was still haunting Emma's mind, slowing down her reaction and making her seem confused about star- and port board. She knew which one was which, thanks to Seatimes.

"It's confusing, isn't it?" Killian said. "My brother taught me a mnemonic when I was small to remember and it was that drinking a lot of port never made you feel right-"

"But being a star did," Emma intervened, familiar with the mnemonic and everything he was probably going to say on this sail.

It was him.

"Aye," he said taken aback. "How did you know that?"

Emma wasn't buying his act; he had to be perfectly aware of how she knew that.

"You're him." The corners of her lips curled but it was more in a grimace than in a smile.

All of this reeked of Mary Margaret meddling.

"Him?" A crease appeared in Killian's–Jones'– forehead. "Sorry, I'm afraid I'm not following."

The confusion clouding her mind completely disappeared, Emma becoming bolder, straightening her back.

"Jones." Her hand gestured towards him. "Seatimes. How did Mary Margaret put up you to this?"

Emma was getting angry now. How could they trick her like this? She already knew it was weird for her to be so obsessed with a stupid maritime podcast, but this only made her more aware of it, only made it more embarrassing. She would think Jones would have enough integrity not to do this to an unsuspecting woman.

"You listen to Seatimes?"

"Yeah," Emma almost yelled in exasperation. "That's why I'm here right? For some fangirl sail."

"No, I'm pretty certain it's just an ordinary sail or maybe the fangirl upgrade package didn't get through to me." Killian smirked. "But I am excited to meet my first official fan."

"Oh."

Emma's face fell and her eyes widened. Shit. While she thought she was being embarrassed, she was actually embarrassing herself. The heat rose to her cheeks and Emma had an intense urge to run as fast as she could and sever all ties with Seatimes. No way in hell she could enjoy listening to it anymore. "I'm not doing this." Turning around, she walked away from him and any further shameful situations.

"Swan," he yelled and repeated as he caught her hand. "Swan. Don't leave. Everything has been paid for and I've just completely prepared the Roger. You got her all excited to go out."

He couldn't make her feel bad about a ship. Things didn't work like that, did they? She did feel a tinge of guilt but if it was because of the ship or him or her best friends, was up for debate.

"The Roger?" she questioned. "As in The Jolly Roger?"

"The one and only." He smiled proudly. "So what do you say?" His head tilted as his blue eyes perused her face.

"Alright."

Emma returned and went to starboard to grab the rope he needed. He sent her a thankful look as he continued to prepare the Roger.

There was not a lot of use for him to teach her things about sailing because she already knew them, so they just sat in silence next to each other when the Roger was well underway, neither of them knowing what to say.

"I thought you lived in England." Emma looked at him.

"Moved here seven years ago with my brother." He shrugged after explaining his accent.

The silence returned and the wind wisped around, sending Emma's locks flying.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, how long have you been listening to the podcast?" His expression was curious.

"About three months, more or less." Emma's hand tried to tame her locks, pushing them behind her ear. "I needed to do some research."

Killian stood up and went to stand behind the helm.

"Are you writing a book?"

"Oh no," Emma was quick to correct him. "I'm a bail bonds person and I had a target that loved sailing and women who were into it."

"Ah." He turned the helm, but only barely and it's creaking was the only sound again. "Did you get him?"

"Huh?" Emma asked, attention focused on the openness of the sea and not on his words.

"Your target?" Killian clarified. "Did you catch him?"

"Oh, yeah." Emma nodded, walking around and tracing her finger along the railing. "I did."

"Good."


	18. anonymous swan

A/N: It was captainwiley's birthday a couple of days ago and to celebrate the joyful day the world gained such a wonderful and crazy person, I've written a fic. This is inspired by how captainwiley and artandteaandstuff got introduced to each other but with our lovely ship instead (the road is a bit bumpier because have you met Emma and Killian?)

* * *

She sat sunken in the soft leather couch, tucked in a corner with a blanket hiding everything from the neck down. Soft music sounded through the room, drifting to every nook chasing away the quiet, the eerie feeling that occasionally lingered in an empty apartment. Emma placed her palm on her face, fingers sliding into her hair as she tiredly rubbed her eyes. It wasn't even nine yet, school hadn't been particularly demanding as her early morning class got canceled and she got to sleep in, and still, exhaustion seemed to follow her every move and step. It didn't help that the days were getting shorter, daylight becoming scarcer, any sign of warmth vanishing into clouds of air.

As tempting as it might be, she wasn't going to go to bed at nine pm on a Friday. She just couldn't. That was not an option. She was twenty-one, not seventy-one, for crying out loud. Though she did fit the description with her warm blanket, mug of hot chocolate with a dash of cinnamon, and an episode of that soap opera her best friend and roomie Mary Margaret insisted on recording and that Emma secretly watched when she was alone in their apartment.

Mary Margaret was out on a date with Emma's brother David, who basically had become a second roommate to Emma. She didn't mind, however. She loved her brother dearly, ever since they met in middle school, they'd been two peas in a pod and after David's mom—their mom— decided to adopt Emma, their bond only became stronger. Mary Margaret was thrown into the mix when Emma befriended her in high school and when she introduced them, it was—according to her brother and Mary Margaret, Emma was more skeptical about it all— love at first sight.

It was best that she stayed up until they returned. Emma knew Mary Margaret: dimmed lights and a shut bedroom door would lead to a discussion because she was concerned about Emma's welfare and social life and so on. And if there was anything Emma could live without, it was the concerned mom speech. She already got her fair share of those from her actual mom, she didn't need them from her sister-in-law as well.

The lock of the door clicked as the key was turned and Emma hastily grabbed the remote control to stop the episode. She threw the blanket off her and grabbed one of her books. When David and Mary Margaret walked in, slightly giggly and drunk on some expensive Italian wine, she seemed less the spitting image of a socially deprived person and more of that of an intellectual seeking diversion. Not that they would notice anyway, so focused on each other.

"Hey Ems," her brother greeted her, wide smile on his face.

Oh, he was drunk. He absolutely never called her Ems.

"Hi, David." Emma looked up, trying to keep herself from laughing. "Wow, it seemed like you two had a great night."

"We did," Mary Margaret replied. "Your brother is such a gentleman, Emma. He makes me _swoon_." The way Mary Margaret stretched out the word made Emma cave, her laugh filling the apartment.

"Good that he does, Mary Margaret." She put the book back down, wiping a tear caused by her moment of amusement away, before contently sighing. "Well, I am pretty tired so I'm going to turn in. Night, guys."

"Night, Emma. We love you," they said in sync. The alcohol clearly did not blur their supposed true love bond.

Emma snickered. "Love you too, lovebirds."

The last thing she saw before she closed the door was her brother caressing Mary Margaret's face while they lovingly gazed at each other and the last thing Emma thought before falling asleep was how she yearned for that kind of love as well.

-/-

"Morning," David groaned as he emerged from his and Mary Margaret's room, shutting the door quietly, most likely to grant his girlfriend a few additional moments of sleep.

Emma sipped her coffee with an amused smile while jumping off the stool next to their breakfast counter and grabbing an extra mug to provide David with a necessary kick of energy.

"Morning to you, too. How's the hangover?"

David flashed her a grateful smile as he accepted Emma's kind gesture and wrapped his hands around the warm mug.

"Bearable, actually. Mary Margaret forced me to chug something that seemed like a gallon of water so I'm sure that, once I properly wake up, I'll be as fit as a fiddle again."

"Good." She wriggled back onto the chair and continued to munch on the Pop Tart she had chosen as breakfast. "I wasn't looking forward to spending my Saturday with two grumpy zombies."

Emma could see the effects of the coffee on David as his gaze became more open, more attentive and as the corners of his lips subtly began to rise.

"How _is_ my lovely sister doing this morning, by the way," he inquired after a moment, his cup almost empty already.

Narrowing her eyes, Emma took a sip again, watching David over the rim of her mug and trying to figure out why it suddenly seemed as if he was attempting to coax her into doing something she would not like. She knew that tone, had heard it far too often over the years.

After clearing her mouth, she decided to go for the direct approach. It was far too early to beat around the bush. "What do you want and/or need?" She asked, eyebrows shooting upwards.

"You remember that dissertation I'm writing to get my degree?"

She did remember what he was talking about since he had been fretting over the ten-thousand-word paper for months now and the deadline kept on creeping closer. It was important to her brother, if he got his criminology major, the chances of him getting hired as a police officer—a lifelong dream of his— would increase considerably. So, she had endured every freak out session and every lecture about the exact subject he had chosen because that was what siblings did. Once the time came for Emma to write hers, in social studies this time, she knew David would do the same for her.

"Yeah, it's difficult to forget." Emma nodded. "But what does that have to do with me?"

She stood up to clear her plate, halting by the trash can to clear some of the remaining crumbs and depositing it in the sink. Turning on her heel, she faced her brother again.

"I need you to work your magic." David had an apologetic look upon him as he shrugged, his police-themed PJ's moving along.

"Which is?" She encouraged him to be more specific, to tell her exactly what she needed to do to help him.

"Read it over, give me some feedback, correct the errors that are most definitely in there?" he spoke, his voice rising as if, besides the work he had written, he was now also second-guessing his request to her.

Emma didn't consider herself a nitpicker, but she had an eye for details and an affinity towards the English language fed by countless stories read and countless tales originating from the depths of her mind. It was a mere hobby, nothing more than an escape when things got too much to handle and people became too demanding that had originated when she was still a foster kid. That did not change Emma's devotion or attention to detail, however; if anything, it enhanced it.

She wasn't a nitpicker but she was the kind of person that noticed when commas stood in the wrong place or when the author should have used whom. Numerous of David's high school assignments had to pass Emma's watchful gaze first before getting the green light to be handed in and Emma couldn't understand why her brother was so hesitant about asking her help now. She loved to help him, time and time again.

"David," she said, soft and reassuring. "Of course, I'll do it, you're my brother. I'll happily correct whatever mistakes I find and give some constructive feedback."

A joyful smile broke the surface of David's worried expression. He approached, arms open to embrace her in a hug. Emma wanted to comment on how this was all a bit too much for a simple read-through but as she felt his hand cup the back of her head, she reconsidered, basking in the warm feeling and memories.

-/-

She had to search for the right moment to tackle David's text. Late in the evening hardly ever worked because her mind was often too clouded with the information it was bombarded with throughout the day, her eyes too tired after staring at textbooks and screens for over six hours, and her fingers fast to make a mistake as they were slow to take commands after writing down seventeen pages of notes. Emma doubted either of those elements would ameliorate the text, if not even worsen.

About four days after David had asked her, Emma finally sat behind the small wooden desk in the corner of her room, opening her laptop and shoving the chair closer. She scoured their Messenger chat to find the link to a Google Docs he had sent her, Emma claiming it would be easier to comment and adjust things on there and David following her advice.

She drank from her mug of coffee, slightly burning her tongue and rubbing it to the edges of her teeth to get rid of the feeling. Softly humming along to her Spotify playlist, Emma saw the link transform into a site and the site slowly loading and supplying a so far six-thousand seven-hundred-word-essay. She could do this, this was what she did best.

As she began to read the introduction to get a general view of what criminological theory she most definitely would not understand the essay was about, she noticed something. Footprints. Steps of someone else who had taken the path she was about to embark on. The words flashed by as she rapidly scrolled down to see if the entire document had already been scrutinized by someone else. And indeed, it had. This "anonymous python" had consistently left feedback on what her brother had written, the blue boxes appearing every paragraph or so.

anonymous python: _Effect is the noun, affect the verb_

anonymous python: _Maybe change this word to another one. You use it thrice in two sentences._

At the end of David's every line, Emma's eyes dashed to the margin to see what the other proofreader thought, if they had noticed the same things she had before adding her own. She considered every comment the anonymous python had made, nodding her head in agreement with the logical and just ones, and frowning while reading those that were pure nonsense. Before she knew, she was pressing the reply button to refute whatever claim this Python was making.

anonymous python: _You should add a comma here, Dave. It will structure your sentence a bit more._

anonymous swan: _Please ignore the anonymous python, David. A comma is useless here, put an em-dash instead._

After checking about a third of the document and losing herself in countering any- and everything that Python had said, Emma looked up at the arrows of her clock, awfully close to the time she was expected in class. In a rush, she locked her computer, chugged the remains of her coffee—a drop missing her mouth and running down her chin before her hand hastily wiped it away— stood up, snatched her bag from her bed and dashed away to her class.

She made it with one minute to spare.

-/-

The weariness engulfing her from head to toe, Emma collapsed on her bed, an unceremonious thud in her flannel sheets. The mattress needed to process the shock, the sudden additional weight and softly bobbed as a ship might've on the water. Her room hadn't quite warmed up yet, so, to give her body the warmth it yearned for, she crawled under the covers. A sigh left her lips as she settled in her own little cocoon of warmth and peace. Not feeling up to do anything else, she was planning a nice evening of scrolling through every social media app known to mankind. Emma struggled to retrieve her phone out of her jeans' pocket without letting the cold air hit her skin, wriggling around in her sheets and turning from left to right.

A small blinking light caught her attention and she paused the fight against her sheets and pocket. Her eyes turned into slits to be able to determine the source, which was her laptop, still standing on her desk. She forgot to turn it off, right. Just before she could take the decision to ignore it, to keep it like this until the next time she needed it, her brother's voice appeared in her mind telling her that it was bad for her computer. He wasn't even here right now and still, he was lecturing her. Grunting, Emma reluctantly lifted her sheets and let the shivers attack her body. Three steps were all it took to reach her desk. Her fingers hit the right combination of keys to unlock the device and she began the close all the tabs she had accumulated during her last browsing session. As she moved her mouse to the red box that would close David's paper, a sentence caught her interest.

 _See new changes made by anonymous._

It certainly wasn't David, or it would've said that he made the changes and she didn't change anything since she last saved everything. It had to be them. The anonymous python. With a strange feeling, a mix of excitement and apprehension, swirling inside of her, Emma looked for the alterations that had been made while she was away.

anonymous python: _Excuse me? I do have a degree in English literature, I think I know when a comma is necessary, thank you very much._

"Oh, we're being snobby, are we?"

Emma snorted and rolled her eyes. So, Python was _that_ kind of person. All indignant and offended when someone knew better and pointed out their mistakes. Also known as Emma's least favorite kind of person.

anonymous swan: _Well, they clearly failed to teach you the most basic of punctuation._

She was already sitting at her computer, reading the document, and the adrenaline had given her new energy, so she might as well continue to do so instead of mindlessly scrolling through social media and watching cat videos. That way she could claim to be productive even if she didn't actually do anything for school.

Suddenly a blue box popped up on the top of her screen with the white depiction of a snake in it, signaling that the anonymous python had returned.

Shit.

In a surge of panic, Emma shut the page down. Eyes wide and heart beating way faster than it ought to, she stared at her desktop image, hoping that they hadn't seen her. It was one thing to anonymously bruise someone's ego, a whole other thing to be in the same online room at the same time with that person, both painfully aware of what had been said.

It was time for a food break—or at least, that was what Emma told herself. She went in search of something to eat and came across a little message from Mary Margaret.

 _Good evening, Emma. You probably forgot but my archery class is tonight so I won't be home 'till late and David is staying at his own place. There's leftover spaghetti in the fridge for you to devour. Enjoy and see you tonight._

 _-MM_

Times like these made Emma really appreciate her friend and her caring nature. Mary Margaret was sweet, so innocently and selflessly sweet. Emma had told Mary Margaret numerous times that she could also just send a text, seeing that it was indeed the twenty-first century but Mary Margaret persisted and unknowingly brought a smile to Emma's face every time she found a yellow post-it stuck to the refrigerator, or their table, or her bedroom door.

Emma removed the spaghetti, placed it on a plate and stuck it into the microwave, drumming her fingers against the counter as she waited for her serving of warm food. The seconds ticked away before the machine made a releasing sound while announcing her food was ready.

Plate in hand, she returned to her room and, more importantly, her computer. Taking a deep breath and first a bite of the still too warm food, Emma unlocked her computer again, bracing herself for the response of her online...— of somebody.

Oddly enough, they hadn't reacted to her obvious jab, so Emma felt her nerves settle, only to be replaced by raging fire as she saw what they _had_ reacted on. Which was almost every comment of hers.

anonymous python: _Wrong_. _Your formulation is even worse than Dave's original one_

anonymous python: _A semicolon? In this sentence? I think not._

Emma was fuming. The audacity of this person. She spent the next half hour alternating between arguing on every comment they made, proving why exactly she was right and angrily chewing on her food. Reading and beta-ing were what she was good at. She didn't need some know-it-all pointing out all of her mistakes when they were, in fact, not. There was a reason David specifically asked for her help.

(She was ignoring the fact that David had clearly asked someone else as well.)

With more force than was necessary— and healthy for her computer— she shut her screen, in dire need of something to distract her, to lead her away from her place of absolute rage and vindication. It was Python's right to comment on her remarks as she did the same on theirs but the big difference was that hers were correct and fair criticisms while theirs were just a whole load of crap set out to drive her up the wall.

How very childish.

Continuing to revise David's paper wasn't in the cards right now, so she left her desk and decided she'd watch some more of that soap opera. It was the perfect opportunity seeing that Mary Margaret wasn't getting home until late. As the title track played, Emma chose to be the bigger person and to not get carried away in this feud that had somehow unleashed. She was a responsible and smart adult and was better than this.

-/-

"Son of a bitch," Emma yelled, fingers typing at inhuman speed. "I'll show you just how fucking American I am."

-/-

Emma woke up to the jingling sound of a notification and groaned, burrowing her head deeper into her pillow. She'd created this rule for herself that once she woke up, she could not go back to sleep so as her hand sloppily hunted for her phone, she prayed to Zeus that the time would be some ungodly hour so she could go back to sleep.

Zeus disappointed her.

As he often did.

Tapping her code, Emma saw what had caused her phone to chime and take over the role of her alarm clock.

 ** _David Nolan created this group chat. You, David Nolan and Killian Jones are a part of it._**

Why would her brother create a group chat when they already had one? And who was this Killian Jones?

It was most likely by accident, a butt-dial sort of incident, though Emma failed to see how it was possible to add two random people who had never interacted to a group. His butt must've been oddly specific. Mental images flashed by her closed eyelids, turning her expression into a grimace. Thinking about her brother's butt was a very bad idea. She should probably stop and focus on the overall situation. David hadn't sent any additional messages which almost confirmed Emma's suspicion of it being an accident.

Emma Nolan: _?_

Emma Nolan: _What's this?_

The white bubble appeared instantaneously and Emma awaited what her brother had to say.

David Nolan: _A request to the both of you to stop bickering in the comment section of my paper. Your like little children._

The two of them? Was this mysterious Killian Jones the anonymous python that plagued David's essay? She reread the message to assure she wasn't imagining things but that was the message that his text contained. And a mistake.

Killian Jones: _Dave, *you're_

Emma Nolan: _*you're_

They'd responded at the exact same time and his message was all the confirmation she required. Oh, he was it, alright. Python felt the insistent need to call David Dave on every other comment and it was yet another thing about him that annoyed her and here he–Killian Jones–was using the exact same nickname with the exact same casual air that made Emma roll her eyes every single time. Why did people feel the need to nickname someone else and then only use their nickname? _Dave this, Dave that_. Emma was quite frankly annoyed. Even more than she already was.

David Nolan: _You got my point, so quit it._

David Nolan: _Though I am eternally grateful to you both for doing this. Just stop bickering._

The moment Killian had seen the message, Emma could feel him staring at her, assessing her. Not in the creepy way of course, but he wasn't replying, nor was she, neither of them willing to acknowledge each other now they knew who exactly was hiding behind those pseudonyms. It felt like an online stare down to see who would crack first.

Even though she wanted to be strong, to show this Killian Jones just how stubborn she could be, her brother was still online, awaiting an answer, and what he was asking her—them— was only fair. Emma sighed and typed out a short answer before pressing send.

Emma Nolan: _Okay._

Killian Jones: _Fine._

 _-/-_

 _"_ Mary Margaret?" Emma said, her right hand holding a wooden spoon as she stirred a pot filled with vegetables and made sure their dinner wouldn't burn.

"Yes?" her friend answered, walking around their dinner table and stretching her arms to set the plate and glass she was holding on the other side.

"Do you know a Killian Jones?" Her eyes focused on the orange of the carrots and the green of the broccoli.

"Why?"

Because he was incredibly annoying and a smartass and because Emma had discovered that he was also breathtakingly gorgeous after clicking on his Facebook profile. But she still hated him, let that be clear.

Mary Margaret inspected her work, quickly checking off a list of things they would need for dinner and when she concluded everything was present, she rearranged her dark pixie cut and looked up to Emma, who avoided her gaze and went on with stirring with the utmost concentration.

"Doesn't matter, just answer the question, please," she muttered.

There was a silence but Emma didn't dare to turn around to see what was taking Mary Margaret so long before answering. She was just about certain what kind of look Mary Margaret's expression would bear.

"I know him," Mary Margaret finally gave in. "He's one of David's good friends. Killian is very nice, slightly full of himself but he has a heart of gold."

Even though Mary Margaret appeared to be convinced of her view on Killian Jones, Emma couldn't accept it. Mary Margaret saw the good in everyone even when there wasn't any good to be found. She would give a speech about how everyone was redeemable and that one only needed to hope, so her opinion wasn't reliable.

"I think you're depreciating how full he is of himself because he seems pretty egocentric to me."

And even that was an understatement.

Emma lifted her eyebrow, having found her confidence again and finally facing her friend.

"Why are you asking me this if you've met him?" Mary Margaret's fair skin creased as she frowned.

Extinguishing the fire, Emma removed the vegetables and placed them on the table, turning around to grab the other components of their dinner.

"We haven't met in real life," she explained, "We've only interacted via Google Docs."

"And it did not go well?" Mary Margaret assumed correctly.

Thinking back to what had been said, she shook her head, blonde locks slightly swaying along. "Not well" was an understatement too.

"To summarize: we fought incessantly and David made us promise we would call a truce."

They both settled in their opposite chairs, Emma serving herself and getting ready to eat until she noticed that Mary Margaret hadn't taken any food yet and was instead staring at her with a confused look.

"I can't say that this doesn't surprise me," she spoke, drawing her eyebrows together anew. "I always thought you two would hit it off. Maybe you should you get to know each other a bit better, you do have some things in common."

Getting to know him better was just about the last thing Emma wanted to do. It could only end up being a disaster.

"Well, it's never going to happen. I hate Killian Jones."

She visibly ended the discussion by taking a large bite of her food, overacting the whole thing to make her message clears but that didn't stop Mary Margaret from making one last comment that did absolutely nothing to reassure her.

"If you say so, Emma."

-/-

anonymous python: _For goodness' sake, Swan, he used the wrong tense here. How did you not see that?_

anonymous swan: _It's creative license, Jones. It can work. Also, we're not supposed to bicker and it's Emma._

anonymous python: _We aren't bickering if you just agree that creative license in a dissertation is bollocks, Swan._

anonymous swan: _EMMA. And no can do, sir. I suppose we are bickering._

 _-/-_

anonymous swan: _Jones, I am begging you. Please stop changing everything to British spelling. We're in America. Adjust._

anonymous python: _Normally I prefer to do more enjoyable activities with a woman begging me, but you've left me no choice. Care to show me?_

David Nolan: _Jones, stop hitting on my sister. And what did I tell you about bickering?_

anonymous python: _We're just having a bit of fun, David._

David Nolan: _Then have fun somewhere else than my dissertation._

anonymous python: _You heard him, Swan. Let's have fun somewhere else. Drinks on me tonight, The Merry Men, 9 pm._

David Nolan: _No, you're not doing that._

anonymous python: _Don't fret, Dave. You can join too._

-/-

She shouldn't actually go, should she? He must've been joking, daring her to do something only to not show up to make fun of her. But why would he invite David as well? He wouldn't do that to his friend, would he? Even though Emma did not hold him in any high regard, he did seem like a good friend to David. So, his proposal must've been genuine.

That didn't help with sorting out her thoughts, it only gave her more questions, more doubts and fears. One thing, however, was blatantly clear.

Killian Jones confused her.

And not in a good way.

(Or so she told herself.)

-/-

The neon letters of the bar flickered against the inky night, a lighthouse in the dark to guide her ashore. She hadn't figured out yet if it was a trap leading her to the cliffs or not.

Emma inhaled, the cold air almost painfully filling her lungs and shut her eyes. She hadn't entered, hadn't met him for real, hadn't gotten drunk and she was already regretting this.

A decision had to be made. Either to enter or to go home. The internal debate with herself couldn't last the entire evening or she would freeze. Wrapping her red leather jacket a bit tighter around herself, she shivered. Go inside or go home. There was a warm bar right in front of her and if she chose to go home, she would have to wait for a cab in the cold.

In the end, the prospect of feeling her fingers again won as Emma pushed the heavy wooden door and entered the bar. The heat warmed her skin and she knew she had made the right choice.

Her eyes roamed the room as she searched for her brother's sandy colored hair, but to no avail.

"And here I thought you wouldn't show." Emma was startled by the voice suddenly appearing to her right. And by the accent. It didn't make it difficult to guess who it belonged to despite the fact they had never spoken. She felt her heart speed up as she faced the source. "Swan." He smirked, a cheeky and cocky thing that told Emma she had made the wrong choice. "Pleased to finally meet you."

His hair was a chaos of black, his eyes a sea of blue. And if the dim bar light did not mislead her, his beard a haze of red. No amount of Facebook profile pictures could've prepared Emma for this.

"You know my name is Emma." She stared at him with a raised eyebrow, the picture of not amused and unimpressed. Or so she hoped.

Jones laughed, a resonant thing, while pushing up the sleeves of his light blue shirt which totally did not make him ten times more attractive.

"I do, but I like Swan." He shrugged. "It suits you."

"And why is that?" she said, the suspicion coloring her voice.

Their eyes met and even though Emma wanted to look away, she couldn't; the connection was too strong to sever. He didn't move either, or blink, or answer the question she'd asked him.

"Feisty and beautiful." was his reply after a minute or so. Perhaps it was more a couple of seconds. She had no idea. It was like the hard drive of her brain had been deleted and she'd forgotten how to do the most basic of things. Like breathing. Emma took a deep breath through her nose as she shook herself out of the trance. "I must say that your profile picture does not do you justice," Jones continued.

Emma is surprised her eyes don't roll out of her skull but the heat rises to her cheeks, nevertheless.

"Wow." Emma scoffed. "It's a good thing that you're buying because I'm going to need a lot of alcohol to handle this." Her hand drew a circle around his silhouette in the air.

"Say no more," he smirked and led her to two empty bar chairs.

-/-

"Jane Austen? That's your favorite author?" she almost shouted in disbelief. Emma had to stop herself from laughing. "Is it because you see yourself as a Mr. Knightley? I hate to break it to you, you're not. At most a Mr. Elton."

"I beg your pardon?" He looked genuinely affronted but Emma didn't know if it was because she was mocking his choice of favorite author or because she was comparing him to one of the worst characters in _Emma._ "What's wrong with Jane Austen, she quite frankly wrote terrific books. Who's your favorite author, may I ask?" he challenged her.

It didn't take Emma long to come up with a name.

"Hemingway," she said before taking a swig from her bottle of beer and contently nodding as she thought about it again.

Jones tilted his head and quietly hummed as he considered her answer.

"Very good author," he finally reacted and Emma was about to start beaming with pride when he continued to speak, "but definitely not worthy of the honor of being your favorite. You need to pick someone who deserves it, with whom you would love to be friends. I for one would love to be friends with Jane Austen. Hemingway… not so much."

"What?" She tried to find some sign of ridicule or humor but found none. He was being completely honest. And she did not agree in the slightest. "That's bullshit. I don't need to like Hemingway as a person to like him as an author."

"But who he is as a person is reflected in his books. Trust me, I have a degree in literature."

"Ugh, this again," she complained and rolled her eyes, a very common occurrence when she was in the company of Killian Jones, it would seem.

"It's the truth. Oh no!" he suddenly shouted.

Emma almost fell off her bar stool, her hand flying up to her chest in shock and barely missing her bottle of beer on the counter. She looked around, eyes frantically searching for something amiss before they landed on Jones again who sat calmly on his stool, amusedly watching her.

"What?"

"We're bickering, Swan," he announced. "David would disapprove."

Emma clenched her jaw in anger while she attempted to get her heartbeat back to normal.

"You just scared the shit out of me. Where is David by the way?

Jones raised his shoulders, showing that he did not know either what was keeping her brother. Bent on finding out why he hadn't shown up in the last hour, she fished her phone out of pocket and dialed David's number. The bar and the area surrounding it kept on getting busier, so as the dial tone rung in Emma's ears, she left Jones there and went in search of a place where she would be able to hear what David's most likely lame excuse for running late would be. The continuous ring stopped with a rustle, telling her he had finally picked up.

"Hello?" he said.

"Hey, it's me. Where are you?" She settled against a brick wall in some hallway not frequented by other people.

"Um." Emma narrowed her eyes as David struggled to get a uniform answer out. This was suspicious. "I can't make it."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, sorry, Emma. I have to go."

And abruptly she was met with the end of the call and silence. Nothing in that call seemed like her brother. The last-minute cancelling—could you even call it that if he was supposed to be here an hour ago— the general vagueness, the abrupt end of the call. Odd. Very odd.

Thinking about it had her frowning as she walked back to the spots Jones and she occupied earlier and that he was still protecting against predators.

"Is everything okay?" His eyes showed concern for her.

"Yeah," Emma reassured him, smiling to get rid of the scowl on her face. "David is not coming."

Grabbing her deserted bottle of probably lukewarm beer, Emma climbed back onto the stool.

"I don't really mind if I'm being honest. I'm quite enjoying myself with the present company."

Were they sitting closer than before? They must be. Emma wasn't able to discern his distinctive smell before, nor could she see the small scar on his right cheek or how long his eyelashes were. It almost managed to take her breath away.

"I should probably go home," she whispered.

"Come on, Swan, don't let a man drink alone." She felt his gaze trace her face as he pleaded with her, both verbally and physically.

They stared at one another again and for a split second, Emma was certain they were going to kiss. He was going to lean in or she was and their lips would meet and she'd be kissing Killian Jones. The other people around them would disappear as they focused on each other and how their tongues would interact and time would stop as they pulled and pushed, fighting for control and the upper hand. She would moan, he would groan, the feeling so satisfying and it would definitely be mind-blowing. She would instantly regret it.

"I have to go," she said weakly. "I have an early class tomorrow."

It was a shit excuse and they both knew it.

-/-

"So?" A chirpy voice behind Emma spoke. At this hour, there was only one person in this apartment that scattered chirpiness: Mary Margaret. "How was your date with Killian?"

How she reminded Emma of how her mom behaved when she went on her first date. Way too nosy and excited about the whole ordeal.

"It wasn't a date," Emma reminded her friend. "David was supposed to show up too but he bailed on me."

Which still confused her. Her brother, who had gone to great lengths to avoid that Jones spent time with her, was suddenly okay with leaving them alone at night, with alcohol involved? It seemed awfully out of character for David. He considered himself her savior, the big brother that had to keep all harm away from his little sister. Killian Jones was far from being harmless and David was aware of that.

"I know."

"You know?" Emma turned her head, suspiciously eyeing her sister-in-law. If there was one person that could make David not act like himself...

"I might be the reason why?" Mary Margaret grimaced and confirmed Emma's suspicion.

What the hell?

"Mary Margaret!" came out as a shout. Emma didn't even try to hide her displeasure.

Of course, she meddled. After her comment from before about how she thought they should get to know each other, Emma could not be surprised that she made sure that they did. She couldn't be surprised but she could be disgruntled.

"Sorry." Her hands went up as a defense mechanism. She didn't seem sorry at all, making it all so much worse. "But, how was it?"

Emma let her change the subject because deep down she'd been wanting to discuss it with someone. She hadn't rightly figured out what exactly it was she wanted to discuss but she knew she needed to verbalize it, even if it was only an attempt to. Killian Jones did things to her, things she couldn't wrap her mind around, things that were all over the place as if they swung from left to right, from one opposite to the other and she was stuck watching it all take place.

"He's … urgh." It was both a sigh and a grunt at the same time and the best thing she could think of to describe her evening.

"Emma Nolan at loss for words, I didn't think I would live to see this day.

"I'm not at loss for words I can give you a million words to describe Killian Jones. Aggravating for instance. What else?" She bit her lip in thought, trying to prove she hadn't lost any of her magic powers. "Oh!" She raised her finger a bit too excitedly as another word came to mind. "He's also pedantic, conceited and most of the time very..."

"Distracting?" Mary Margaret prompted with a look of compassion.

Emma let her shoulders sag, her whole body following as she dropped herself on their couch. It took a lot of energy to pretend. "Very," she faintly admitted, hair strewn across the leather and eyes glued to the ceiling.

She felt her legs being lifted as Mary Margaret made room for her to sit on the couch too.

"Emma, there is nothing wrong with asking him to hang out again," she assured her, a squeeze following meant to emphasize her words but Emma shook her head disagreeing. Mary Margaret couldn't know that for certain, she lived in this brightly colored fairytale world where everything went great and everyone was happy and got their Happily Ever After. Emma didn't believe in all of that. This _thing_ with Jones wouldn't lead to that if they—she— acted on it. She didn't know where it would lead her and that was why she wouldn't dare to take the plunge. Staying safely ashore was far safer than risking to drown.

"And grant him the opportunity to gloat at every given moment?" She sat back up, trying to shake off the conflicting feeling and immersing herself back into her earlier mindset. The mindset from when Jones was just still anonymous python and she couldn't stand the sight of him. Maybe Mary Margaret would believe the act she was putting on. "No, thank you. I need to stay as far away from Killian Jones as possible."

-/-

"Swan?" Emma froze, her hand still reaching out for the box of hot chocolate mix and her eyes shutting as she winced while hearing the nickname only one person in the whole world called her. Just her luck that that one person was also the one she was avoiding with might and main. But apparently, she couldn't even go to the supermarket in peace. Maybe if she didn't move, continued to stand there with her hand in the air, he wouldn't approach her? Perhaps he would just walk by with an acknowledging nod and she would go about her day without having to face Killian Jones after she very obviously stood him up two weeks ago. Who was she kidding, the universe wasn't kind enough to grant her that gesture. "What a lovely coincidence."

Taking a breath, she turned around, a neutral expression on her features instead of the alarmed one they bore.

"Jones," she curtly addressed him.

He was wearing a dark burgundy sweater, a pair of dark jeans and a warm coat over it to protect him from the outside temperatures; his hair was still a controlled mess and his cheeks slightly rosy due to the cold but what caught Emma's attention the most was the smile that did not waver from his face.

"I'm happy I'm running into you."

Emma had noticed that. She needed to be strong, however, to not get distracted by the way his eyes crinkled.

"Why exactly is that?" Her brow skeptically furrowed.

He moved his shopping basket to his left arm to take a step closer to her. Her body wanted to back away but the rack with hot chocolate mixes was in the way. The distance between them had declined so much that, because of their height difference, Emma was now forced to look up to look him in the eye.

"I've been meaning to ask you something but I didn't want to do it via Messenger."

There was a foreboding silence as they watched each other. He wouldn't dare. She had just gone through two weeks of agony and he wasn't about to reset her whole process by saying what she thought he was going to say. He couldn't.

"I wrote an essay for an academic publication-" Emma felt her chest deflate as she let the air out of her lungs in relief. He wasn't. She mentally thanked Zeus. "-and I was wondering if you could take a look at it?"

"Take a look?" Emma repeated harshly. "Why?" She didn't give him any time to reply and answered her own question, "To boost your ego? You know what, I think I'm gonna pass. Hey, I have an idea. Maybe you should ask one of your flings, I'm certain they'd love to have the scoop of reading the essay of the prodigal Killian Jones." To finish her statement, she added a sly smirk— though it was more of a sneer.

They bantered and jabbed, all with the same air of sarcasm and mockery, this was what they did. But why did he appear so defeated, then? So sad? He wasn't supposed to; he was to supposed to counter with his equally clever remark, another battle in their never-ending war.

"Emma, please, would you read it," he begged. It wasn't the way he said it but what that caught her off guard. He'd never called her Emma before. Never, not even once. He purposely and stubbornly refused to. So, this was dead serious. "I'm begging you. I'll do anything in return. I just need a second set of eyes."

The desperation drenched his words and Emma could feel her resolution of staying detached fall apart, piece by piece.

"Okay," she said, before thinking about what she was doing. Her heart clenched at the sight of his distressing disposition and wanted to banish it once and for all. She was pretty sure it would do everything in its power never to see that look again. "You can send me the file. I have to go now but I'll take a look tonight."

"Thank you so much, Swan." He managed to smile a small smile. "You've earned my eternal gratitude.

She had no idea what to with that.

Not even five minutes later, her phone chirped.

 ** _Killian Jones has sent you a friendship request._**

Sighing, Emma clicked accept. It was just a Facebook friendship, she was aware, but still, it was more. She'd agreed to help like a friend would. They suddenly became friends instead of fluctuating in the grey zone of enemies-but-not-really. It felt weird to enter this new territory. To have Killian Jones as a friend while she spent so much time being annoyed by him and far too much time with him residing in the back of her mind.

Killian Jones: _Thanks again for doing this, Swan._

Emma Nolan: _No problem. So, what do you want me to do precisely? Spelling, grammar, anything else?_

Killian Jones: _Well, spelling and grammar should be on point, but it can't hurt to double check. It's mainly the message, however. Do you get what I'm saying? Am I not repeating myself? Is there a clear structure? etc. I've read it so many times now that I'm second guessing every word and phrasing._

Emma Nolan: _I can do that. I'll read it as soon as I can._

Killian Jones: _Be kind, Swan._

Emma Nolan: _Eh. I'll see how good this is before making any promises._

-/-

It wasn't just good, it was incredible. Written with passion and intelligence. He incorporated humor in an academic essay and managed to get away with it. He drew her in from the very first sentence and kept her attention for the whole thirteen pages, the speed with which she was reading only increasing so she could see what else he had written. Fuck, he was talented. And she now had to admit it to him.

anonymous swan: _I would add em-dashes here just to clarify the structure of your sentence._

anonymous swan: _Good metaphor, I'd go even further with it. Compare more to it, the reader won't mind one bit_

anonymous swan: _I thought you said creative license in academic essays was "bollocks"? Someone isn't being consistent._

Killian Jones: _I was expecting you to be more critical_

Emma Nolan: _So was I, but there was nothing to be critical about. It was really good, surprisingly enough._

Killian Jones: _You think so?_

Emma Nolan: _I do. Well done, Jones._

-/-

Killian Jones: _Swan! Guess what!_

Emma Nolan: _What?_

Killian Jones: _Because of my essay, I got nominated for the Newcomer of the Year award!_

Emma Nolan: _Wow, Impressive! Congratulations!_

Killian Jones: _Thank you! Apparently, they attempted to reach out to me as soon as it got published, but they got my contact information wrong. The award ceremony is tonight and I thought I'd ask you to come along as a thank you._

Emma Nolan: _Jones, I've already told you that I did absolutely nothing, stop trying to thank me._  
Emma Nolan: _Besides, fancy award ceremonies and I don't mix. I'm going to skip. But have fun!_

-/-

"Have you heard the news?"

Emma startled as her brother barged into her room without knocking, without so much as a word to warn her of his entrance. In confusion, she took out her earbud, the white pod still blasting her playlist of study music, and silently asked him what he was doing with wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

"Have you heard?" he repeated, his voice insisting.

Slamming her book shut and pulling out her other earbud, aware of how she would not be able to do any studying when he was interrogating her in her room's door opening, she turned to him, begrudgingly giving him her full and prompt attention.

"Heard what, David?" The annoyance was obvious in how she almost spit the words out.

"Killian's essay got nominated for some prize."

"I know. Good for him. I already congratulated him." She failed to see why David had to kick down her door and announce it, interrupting her sacred reversion time. She was finally being productive.

"That's all?" he asked, disappointed about something Emma couldn't figure out.

What more could he want?

"Yeah," she stretched out the word, watching him. "I was invited to come along but I passed. What else do you want me to say?

"Emma!" She was definitely missing something to understand this whole situation. "He asked you out and you said no!"

David provided her with the missing information, but she was wrong, it did not help whatsoever to understand.

"What? I said he didn't need to thank me with some fancy dinner." Her voice rose in pitch as she slowly began to comprehend what was going on and tried to defend herself. She was innocent.

"Knowing Killian, he took it as a rejection."

"No, he didn't," Emma was convincing herself more than David at this point. "What are you talking about?"

David grabbed his phone, ceremoniously cleared his throat and started reading, "5:21 pm: "Mate, do you think it's a good idea to ask your sister to join me? But like on an official date,"" he horrendously copied Jones' typical lilt. "And then just now, 7:57 pm: "Dave, I don't know what to do anymore. I've tried so many times, but I think she's just not interested. I should give up. Anyways, I have to go. I have a ceremony to attend.""

Her brother was awaiting a reaction but Emma was right there with him, no idea how or what she should react. All she knew was that she didn't want him to give up. So, all this time spent talking and bickering, that was him trying?

"What happened to him being this suave ladies' man?"

"Do you really believe that's who he is? Or even was?" His blue eyes were solemn as he questioned her opinion of his friend. She could see it there, the close bond the two of them had, the way David wanted to protect Killian. Perhaps the reason he never introduced Emma to him wasn't because he wanted to protect her, but because he wanted to secure his best friend's fragile heart.

"No," she answered, head and eyes cast downwards in shame. "Okay, but what do you want me to do about it?"

The look he gave her didn't leave a lot to the imagination and if it wasn't quite clear yet, his arms crossing in front of his chest did tell her what he wanted her to do.

"When did you become such a fan of Jones and me together?"

His stern gaze and posture softened again as he thought of an answer which led Emma to think that the answer would be something she wasn't ready for yet.

"Since I saw how much you've both changed since you met one another." He stepped closer and went to sit on a corner of her desk. "Mary Margaret had to open my eyes but once seen, it could not be unseen. I didn't completely realize how much you two were talking."

"About your dissertation," Emma clarified.

David looked down at her, not a trace of pressure or implication. Only a simple question with no underlying meaning; he was giving her the freedom to answer as she pleased. "Are you sure about that?"

They weren't only talking about his dissertation. Every conversation might've started that way but they slowly but surely drifted to another topic, time and time again. She'd gotten to know a lot about him over the past few weeks she'd considered him a friend, and he about her, more than she cared to admit.

She shut her eyelids and shook her head. Once she reopened them, David sympathetically watched her. The hairs on her body stood upright with the realization that she wanted to try too. Finally, she had gotten ready to risk it, to give him a chance. But Killian told David he was done trying. Fuck.

"Now go." David shook her out of her contemplation.

"What?" Emma replied in confusion.

"To the ceremony." David grabbed her arms and helping her out of her chair. "You might still make it on time."

She had only just come to the realization that she liked him and she already supposed to go and tell him? Oh no, she could not do that. Emma needed at least another couple of days or so to accept it all, and then visit him on her own terms, and then maybe bring up the topic. This was going way too fast.

"David, I can't just barge in!"

What would it look like? Her swinging open the doors of a black and tie event in her sweatpants and oversized sweater, hair a mess—and not the good kind like Jones'— out of breath and sweating, disrupting some important person holding a speech and all eyes flying over to her just to say that she liked Killian Jones enough to want to date him. Emma's worst nightmare, that was what it looked like.

"Yes, you can!" he disagreed, pushing her out of the room.

"Why are we yelling?" Mary Margaret appeared in the hallway and joined the conversation.

Before Emma could turn around and answer her question, placating Mary Margaret and downplaying everything to avoid her interference, David took the opportunity to recruit her onto his side.

"Emma is going to Killian's ceremony to tell him she likes him."

Waving her hands, she attempted to transfer the message that that wasn't what they were doing. Everyone needed to calm the fuck down. David needed to stop pushing her, both physically and emotionally; Mary Margaret needed to stop looking at her with that sparkle of hope in her green eyes; and Emma needed the space to breathe and not freak out about everyone knowing she liked Jones.

"Oh my god!" Mary Margaret joined the yelling and simultaneously did so with Emma.

"No, I'm not!"

Her head was starting to hurt and to relieve the pain, Emma began to rub her temples with the tips of her fingers.

Mary Margaret came closer and tenderly placed her hands on both of Emma's shoulders.

"Emma, you should," she advised, bringing the yelling to an end with her soft voice. "It would be so very romantic."

David came to stand right next to her, nodding and echoing what his girlfriend had said, yet again a reappearance of their trademarked true love bond.

"Why are you two like this?" Emma inquired as a last refusal, no idea what she was supposed to do right now. She could feel those two sets of eyes staring at her and pulling her over that line, convincing her, regardless how hard she might be against the idea.

"Emma." She looked up at her brother and sister-in-law, who were standing awfully close to her in a tiny hallway. "Do you like Killian?"

"Yes."

Mary Margaret smirked, an unsettling sight because she was not the type of person that smirked. Emma knew that it was decided. They were going.

"Then put on that pretty dress in your closet—you know that soft pink one— and go to the ceremony. I'll drive."

Emma supposed it was time to do some grand romantic gesture of her own. Ugh.

-/-

She slipped into the dark room, her dress swishing against her bare legs, and softly closed the door behind her. Scanning the room, she went in search of him and after some squinting, she could spot him in the front row. He looked an awful lot like the day she ran into him at the supermarket, nervous and afraid, with as only difference the suit he was wearing instead of his woolly sweater.

"To end our evening, we would like to announce our Newcomer of the Year," the slightly balding man on the stage announced. Emma smiled, she had made it just in time. "The winner of this prize is a young, up-and-coming author. After recently having graduated in the studies of English Literature–"

And never shutting up about the fact that he did, Emma thought.

"–our laureate received acclaim for his dissertation and he managed to prove again with his recently written essay that this was all due to his talent and dedication. We are very pleased to announce that this year's winner is Mr. Killian Jones."

She clapped and whooped as she saw him walk towards the stage with a brilliant smile, pride swelling and spreading in her chest. He truly deserved this.

Killian reached the microphone and accepted the little statue, giving the host a handshake and looking at the bronze prize in awe.

"Thank you very much. I cannot properly express what it means to have your support. Writing and reading have been passions of mine ever since I was a young lad and to take this path was, therefore, a logical option I've not once regretted. Me standing here today would not be possible without my brother and mother who read countless stories until their voices went hoarse, without the amazing friends I have, and without the incredible people who read and gave feedback when the doubt grew too large and to whom I'm eternally grateful. So, thank you. I will treasure this moment forever."

His speech was met with loud applause and Killian left the stage again, still shaking his head in disbelief. She was about to surprise him again. Waiting in a corner of the room until the mass of people wanting to congratulate him had dispersed and he was alone again, Emma left the shadows and walked over to Killian, who was admiring his prize yet again.

"I believe congratulations are in order. Newcomer of the Year, well done."

Killian's eyes left the trophy and moved to her, wide and blinking to see if this was real.

"Swan," he breathed. "You're here."

She shrugged. "I decided that I might try one of these fancy award ceremonies." Jones beamed as she leaned in. "I particularly liked your speech. Tell me, are there a lot of incredible people that read your text? Or was it just me?"

"Just you, Swan. You are more than enough."

Fuck these stupid fancy award ceremonies for not being an appropriate place to attack him with her mouth.

* * *

 _ **Five Years Later**_

"Are you nervous?" she asked, running her hands through his dark locks, making them look just right. Taking a small step back and nodding approvingly her hand slid down, settling on his cheek and caressing the soft skin there.

"Why would I be nervous?" His blue eyes looked up and betrayed that his confidence was all just an act.

Which Emma already knew, of course. She knew how he reacted to publishing his own work, to letting people he didn't know and trust read the things he had worked on for weeks, months and even years sometimes.

"Because I know you and you're publishing something that's a bit bigger than just an essay in a magazine this time." Emma's eyebrows rose and Killian let out a sigh.

"Yeah," he finally admitted, covering her hand with his own. "I'm bloody nervous."

A smile crept on her face and she curled her free arm around his, pulling him closer to her to whisper a confession in his ear.

"I was waiting until you would say that."

"Were you?" he questioned, tilting his head and lifting one expressive eyebrow.

Moving her head up and down, Emma confirmed. "So I could do this–" Her lips gently brushed his, an innocent thing, but it wasn't about passion right now. It was about calming him and his nerves down and kissing her almost always seemed to have that effect. "– and tell you that your book is amazing and that everyone is going to love it. It's the best thing you've ever written, Killian. And it can't hurt that you had the world's best beta-reader who also happens to be your lovely wife." She winked, earning a laugh from Killian. "I finally picked a favorite author that deserved it and I love." The words carried the memory of their very first date— first according to Killian, Emma wasn't really convinced of that— and managed to eradicate the last remnants of nervosity inside of Killian as his hand stopped trembling and his eyes only contained love.

"You're brilliant, you know that, right?" He cradled her cheeks before letting their foreheads touch.

"And you'll do great, you know that, right?" she whispered back with closed eyes, reveling in the moment.

"I love you, Swan."

She felt his lips on hers again and kissed back, the sensation still making her feel lightheaded as it had when they first kissed on the parking lot of the venue Killian had won his first award.

"Go knock them dead."

He winked one final time at her before walking out on stage, a thunderous applause welcoming him, and Emma left the backstage to join the audience.

"Hello everyone, welcome and thank you for being at this reading," Killian greeted his fans. "I'll be reading the first couple of chapters and afterwards, you can get your copy signed if you'd like."

The book on the stand was opened and Killian began to read.

"This book—and all of its em-dashes—is dedicated to the anonymous swan."

* * *

A/N: This fic—and all of its em-dashes—is dedicated to the notorious nonnie."


End file.
